


Salvation

by Inkblooded_Witch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel! Castiel, Archangel Gabriel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bloody Fights, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2020 (Supernatural), Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Demon! Dean - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Knight of Hell Dean Winchester, Knight of Hell Sam Winchester, Long Ago John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Sabriel - Freeform, Sereph Castiel, Sex, Smut, Swearing, Top!Castiel/Bottom!Dean, Top!Dean/Bottom!Castiel, minor character death but they’re minor characters no one likes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23111197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkblooded_Witch/pseuds/Inkblooded_Witch
Summary: Castiel has never complained about being referred to as ‘a good soldier’. Why should he? It’s simpler. If he keeps his head down and does his duty, he keeps busy and is left alone. Everyone wins. This status quo is shattered when he stumbles upon a Knight of Hell, wounded and dying. Instead of leaving him to die, or finishing him off, Castiel realizes this particular scourge of the earth might be more useful alive than dead. So begins the process of healing one of the oddest Demons he’s had the displeasure of meeting. He has no idea which is worse, that he has no guilt from keeping this operation quiet, or that this creature is actually growing on him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 46
Kudos: 334
Collections: Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a submission for the 2020 Dean/Cas Reverse Bang. Partnering art for this story was produced by the fantastic talent of Sarasaurussex, [Check out their art here!](https://sarasaurussex.tumblr.com/post/612380185800622080/deancas-reverse-bang-2020)  
> [And here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23099209)  
> 

Patrols were something of a paradox, as far as Castiel was concerned. They were often risky, since you were generally on the borders of their territory. The whole point of a patrol in the first place was to be on the lookout for possible threats, security breaches. In higher risk areas patrols were done on rotation, so no one was given the risk too often. In lower risk areas, they were just as unwanted since they could bore even the most astute Angel to tears.

Personally, Castiel enjoyed them. Particularly since he’d spent the last few months stationed on a border of hard-won Angel territory, on the Canadian front. A reward, seeing as he’d spent a great deal of time on the front in their battle against Hell. Unlike human wars, it was a constant thing. Ever present, ever pressing, pushing to claim more territory, more humans. That hadn’t changed, they’d simply won themselves a reprieve. Demons needed far more time to respawn than Angels. For them, any soul who entered Heaven who wished it could become part of the heavenly host. They’d start low, often in the warrior class, but if they lived and learned they could move up the ranks. Although he was a Seraph now, Castiel had started out this way too. All but the Archangels had, they had been the first. The strongest, the oldest, the most powerful.

Demons were souls who had spent time in Hell, but it was a process. Every soul went through it, but it took time, and it was rarely a choice. As such, the price paid was slower turnover. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, but they treated their kind as disposable. Angels did not. They valued the lives of their soldiers, it was part of what set them apart from Demons.

Generally Castiel despised this aspect of his enemies. Though in times like this, he couldn’t help but appreciate the benefits. For the last two human months he’d been enjoying the serenity of these mundane patrols, flying out solo to check the perimeter. No balancing on a razor’s edge, every sense and instinct on alert, no listening to younger partners complain. They always had something to complain about, be it too quiet a posting with not enough leave to enjoy it properly, or too much action. Honestly, you think they’d pick something and stick to it. Not continue the nonsensical flip-flopping. Didn’t the humans have a saying for that? The grass was always greener? Well, it was, but that didn’t mean it was wise to say as much.

Castiel studied the ground below, gaze scanning dense trees and foliage. It was summer, so there was no snow, and he’d already made two circuits of his route. Deciding to stretch his legs as well as his wings, he turned his attention to a tiny break in the trees. Large enough to fit through and make a safe landing.

He folded his wings to his back, pinning his legs together and his arms to his sides, plunging headfirst. The wind whistled around him as the Angel dropped like a stone, plummeting back towards earth. Not necessary, but exhilarating. It was also a way to keep battle skills sharp. More than one Angel he’d known had died because they hadn’t kept themselves up on these softer postings.

The moment he was clear of the higher branches Castiel flipped himself over, putting his feet towards the ground, bending his knees and throwing his wings wide. Impact was insignificant, for all he made a small crater in the dirt. Shaking himself off, Castiel set out on foot. There was only a sliver of moon overhead, barely visible in the sky as clouds drifted over it periodically. Here, beneath the canopy, the shadows were long and deep. A human would be blind. Thankfully, he wasn’t a human. He could use his grace for illumination if need be, but for his purposes he could see well enough.

Aside from the animals, there didn’t appear to be anything out here that shouldn’t be. Not even a camper or hiker, for all the weather was good. Unusual, but he wasn’t about to complain. Even the animals tended to give him a wide berth. This wasn’t always so, but they seemed to know when an Angel was there for peace or there for battle. He’d had birds land on his arms, deer walk right up to him, bees buzz right by his nose. He enjoyed those moments of peace, for all he hadn’t left the warrior’s ranks. It was dangerous, and as he grew older he enjoyed the novelty of peace more, but he needed a purpose. Something to do, a reason to get up in the morning, as it were.

Until that changed, he would enjoy his pockets of peace when he could. Deciding tonight would count, he sheathed his blade, stowing the metal. He was still on alert, but perhaps if he settled some animals would come out. Not that there were many stirring at this time of night.

It took the better part of an hour, but as he walked Castiel began to hear the night sounds. An owl hooted overhead, rodents scuttled in the brush, the occasional soft sound gave away small mammalian hunters. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The Angel smiled faintly as the wind stirred around him, enjoying the night and its simple splendors.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed after this before he smelled it. Sulfur. More importantly it wasn’t the faint trace of a teleport. It was the full-blown scent of an in-the-flesh Demon that had come in for a landing. One had teleported near here. Why? To see if it was still a fortified position?

Castiel didn’t realize he’d taken his blade in hand again until his fingers flexed around its grip. An old habit that had served him well over the years. His wings ruffled at his back, ready to do battle or flight, whichever was needed. He’d have to move fast if he was to find the Demon while their trail was still hot. The sulfur scent was only prevalent during transport, the stronger the Demon the stronger the scent, and this one had been particularly potent. Even so, after that faded he’d have to track them the old-fashioned way.

Considering how strong it already was, they had to be close. It was odd. Normally the ones who got old enough to smell that strong were more careful. Angelic teleportation and demonic teleportation were two different things, but they could scope out where they touched down. Had he really gotten that good at concealing his grace?

He was still trying to make sense of the situation when he heard a barely audible grunt, followed by an equally rough, “Son of a bitch.”

Ears pricking, Castiel course-corrected, eyes narrowing. He kept a lid on his grace, in case he hadn’t been noticed yet, hoping it would make a difference. It was something of a toss-up, whether your enemy was among those who’d put effort into picking up on angelic presence even if their grace was airtight, but you never knew.

There were a few more curses, and what sounded like something dragging on the ground, as Castiel came full circle. The Demon appeared to be alone, slow-moving for all their strength. A downwind gust had blown the scent of demonic blood to Castiel’s nose. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. He’d have to tread carefully. He’d lost more than one soldier because an enemy had decided they wouldn’t die alone.

The Angel was weighing the benefits of showing himself, or taking them by surprise to end it quickly, when he heard a rough voice growl, “If you’re gonna kill me at least show me your face.”

Head quirking to one side, Castiel considered the demand. Deciding a worthy opponent would warrant this much, he slowly came around again and approached from his downed enemy’s right flank. They appeared to have landed in a small clearing of dirt, thrown up on impact. At current the Demon’s shoulders were propped against a cluster of rocks, wings splayed behind him, limp against the stone. If he’d had armor it was gone, so was any footgear he might have worn.

Deciding he had nothing to lose, Castiel straightened and allowed his grace to show. One of the first tricks they were taught was to channel it through a ring over their heads, to illuminate their surroundings without blinding themselves or blotting out things just out of reach. Simple, but very practical. He’d thought it funny, when he heard humans had caught some of his siblings while they were using this trick. It was a source of amusement, that they’d named this trick ‘halo’ and deemed it a sign of something holy. If only they knew of all the battlefields they lit, of all the illicit activities they’d illuminated over millennia. Before electricity, if you wanted to see your lover in a post-sunset rendezvous it was your least risky option.

In all honesty Castiel had seen worse in the glow of his grace. This Demon was dying, not dead. Someone had certainly done a good job of trying, though. Besides missing armor, weapons, and footgear, his clothes were in tatters. By the looks of it his pants had once been jeans, but they were covered in mud, gore, and who knew what else, torn and ratty. What remained of any shirt clung to him in bits and pieces held together by the barest of threads and wishful thinking. It made it very easy to see all the wounds. Cuts and bruises covered every square inch, several fingers pointing in odd directions, a cut over one eye bled sluggishly, half blinding the Demon. A particularly nasty gash was cut across the right side of his chest, and unless Castiel was mistaken they were using their good hand to hold a belly wound closed. The sort of wound that had entrails spilling onto a battlefield.

The limp wings weren’t in much better shape, cut and battered for all they appeared capable of meager flight. His horns confirmed Castiel’s theory, though. Demons had to survive a century or two before horns were more than points thrusting out of their temples. These were akin to rams horns.

“Take a picture, Junkless, it’ll last longer.”

Castiel blinked owlishly. He didn’t lower his weapon or relax his stance, but he did take an extra moment to study this Demon’s face. They seemed…familiar. Normally this was bad, he preferred to slay old foes before they learned his ways. But he didn’t think it was that kind of familiar. That being said, what else was there?

“What battle did you escape from?”

The Demon barked a laugh, then coughed, red liquid staining his lips. “Battle. I wish.”

“Then how did you end up in this condition?”

“Wasn’t any of you ass-monkeys, that’s for sure.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “Your own kind did this?”

“Nah. Some dick just gave my seal to dumbass hunters.”

Well, part of that made sense. More powerful Demons and Angels had specific sigils that, when drawn in human blood with the proper spell, could summon them. Castiel had his own, and this Demon had survived long enough he apparently did too. Hunters had gotten better these last centuries, much to the chagrin of the Men of Letters. Personally, Castiel had always had a soft spot for them, for all they could make trouble.

There was still one part that didn’t make sense, though.

“Why would a Demon lead you to hunters? I thought you liked to do your own dirty work.”

“Why do you care?” he bit out.

“Curiosity is a fault of mine. I’d also like to extract something useful before you expire.”

The Demon sighed, lids fluttering as he tilted his head back against stone. “If I tell ya, will you make it quick?”

“Very well.”

“My old boss got worried I was getting too big for my britches. Thought I might kill him.”

“Doesn’t that usually involve murder?”

“Yep.”

“What gave him that idea?”

“I was gonna kill him.” The Demon grinned, showing bloody teeth as he lifted his head again, opening black eyes. “Alistair was a dumbass bitch anyway. I did kill him though. Worth it. Just wish I’d done it sooner.”

“Thank you.”

“What?”

“I know Alistair. Well, I knew him, I suppose. Thank you for getting rid of him.”

“If you’re so grateful, how about patching me up?”

“I’m grateful, I’m not a fool.”

“How about you drop some info instead? Not like I’ll be able to do anything with it at this point. Those hunters were Men of Letters terriers. The ones that get the good shit.”

Castiel pondered this. He could feel the Demon’s life force fading. It was slow, but it was in progress. A brief poke with his grace that earned him a sharp curse confirmed his suspicions. A potent curse had latched onto the Demon, it was draining him nice and slow. The sort of thing particularly sadistic Angels enjoyed. Castiel was of the opinion faster was better simply because it didn’t give them the chance to wiggle out of it, but to each their own. That, plus what felt like some sort of witch-grade poison. Men of Letters indeed.

“It’s working slowly, what they did to you. I would estimate you have ten hours, perhaps more. What do you wish to know? If it’s not confidential I’ll tell you. Impart information of your own, and I’ll end your misery.”

“Fair enough.” He coughed again, then asked, “You know that Demon your Archangel picked up a few years back?”

Castiel’s hand tightened on his blade. He knew of whom they spoke of. Archangels were the original Angels, the oldest, the most powerful. Frankly if they weren’t so handy on the battlefield Castiel wouldn’t like them much, their personalities left much to be desired. They were a bossy, entitled bunch. He’d earned himself a lot of good favors by strategically passing up duties that would put him in their proximity to others. The one exception to this was Gabriel. The youngest Archangel liked to goof off and play with the fledglings, which meant he was something of a favorite by many until they aged. Castiel was in the minority in that he was still fond of Gabriel. They encountered each other every time he was at Heaven’s core, they enjoyed each other’s company.

One of the leading factors to Gabriel’s declining popularity was his recent choice in life-mate. As far as he knew Demons didn’t take mates, only lovers. Angels did, but they often chose to wait until they were no longer going into battle regularly. No other Archangel had taken a mate, just the occasional lover, which was the source of much commotion to say the least. Gabriel had been one of them, until he’d managed to snag a Knight of Hell for interrogation. Few people knew why or how things had ended the way they did, but Castiel was one of them. He was also rather fond of Gabriel’s mate. He didn’t like this one asking after him.

“What do you want to know of him?”

“First tell me if I’m wasting my breath. Do you know him or just know _of_ him?”

“I know him.” Putting out his grace, wondering if this was some sort of complex ambush, he added, “Are you among those who took offense to his defection?”

“Yeah, just not for the reasons you think.”

Castiel studied him for a long moment, then asked, “What do you wish to know?”

“How’s he doing?”

The Angel’s head slowly tipped to one side. “I don’t understand.”

“How’s Sam doing in Heaven? Is he on house arrest? Is he in one piece? Does ‘Haven’s most terrifying weapon’ have to walk him on a leash?” Considering he was dying, the Demon managed to sound impressively cocky.

Castiel licked his lips, doing another scan around the area before saying slowly, “Sam was well, last I saw him. There are…limitations, but he is allowed to move freely about. Acceptance among the Angels isn’t exactly widespread, but he’s managing.”

“Is he happy?”

“You wish to know if it was worth it?”

“No. Just answer the damn question.”

“Sam is content. He cares for his mate, and his mate for him. Why do you care?”

Black eyes blinked slowly, returning to their eerily human green. Tilting his head back to stare up through a narrow gap in the trees, the Demon said in a low voice, “Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah. Mind killing the light? Wanna see the stars.”

“First tell me why you wanted to know of Sam Winchester.”

At first he thought the Demon wouldn’t answer. Then he muttered something, so quiet and rough Castiel missed it. The words still sent him into a brief coughing fit, a sound that made even the Angel wince.

He waited until the hacking had quieted to ask, “What did you say?”

“I said he’s my brother.” He was quiet for a beat, then added, “Always knew he’d do better. Live longer. Nice to have it confirmed is all. Kill the light before you finish me, would ya? Last request?”

Castiel barely heard what was said after the word ‘brother’. His eyes widened as he realized just why this male Demon looked so familiar. He hadn’t thought it possible, but then what other Demon would name a defector as blood kin? If this was the brother of Sam Winchester, he had every reason to kill him on the spot. Virtually every other Angel would have already done it. But he liked to have verification for delicate matters.

Abruptly he brightened his grace’s glow, stalking forward.

“Hey! What’re you doing?”

Castiel pressed the edge of his blade against the Demon’s throat, demanding, “If you are Sam’s brother, then where is the amulet?”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Answer me or I will see just how long you can survive.”

For all they were in obvious pain, the Demon still glowered at him darkly, lips curling back in a snarl. “Say I did have an amulet, why would I let you have it?”

“Because it can prove your identity. I’d rather have assurance before I face Sam again.”

“I thought you freaks hated him. Us.”

Castiel’s chin lifted slightly, eyes narrowing as they sparked with grace. “Irrelevant. Answer my question.”

For a moment the Demon’s eyes went black, but it faded just as quickly. He was that weak. It was almost sad, seeing an obviously powerful being brought so low, for all he was supposed to be the enemy.

“Front left pocket,” he said at last, looking away, ignoring the blade at his throat.

Keeping it there, Castiel reached for the pocket. He worked his fingers under the fabric, feeling seams giving way as he probed the space. It took a moment, more threads snapped before he reached the pocket’s bottom, but he finally felt a coiled thong.

“Why are you not wearing it?” he asked absently, drawing it out.

“Had a feeling today was gonna go to shit.”

Castiel drew out the thong, holding it up for inspection. Sure enough, it was a basic necklace, like the humans had had for centuries. That much wasn’t noteworthy. Castiel was interested in what hung from it. A small idol, as wide as his thumb and not half as long, as old as the Demon who owned it. Castiel had heard of it, seen drawings when he’d asked Sam about it, but never thought he’d see it in person.

Swallowing dryly, he turned his gaze down to the Demon still under his blade.

“We’ve never met in person, Dean Winchester.”

Bloody lips twitched. “All you ass-clowns look alike to me. Which one are you?”

“Castiel.”

Brows twitched upward. “Seriously?”

“Is my name of consequence?”

“Some names stuck out. Your squadrons are a real bitch to deal with on the battlefield.”

“Thank you.” Castiel lowered his blade, sheathing it. He then reached over, pressing the amulet into Dean’s good palm and closing his fingers around it. “This won’t be pleasant, but I believe you will thank me later.”

“What’re you talking about? Son of a _bitch!”_

The words weren’t so much as bellowed as they were choked, eyes bulging. His wings, evergreen-tinted flesh stretched between skin-covered bone, jerked stiffly against the rocks. The good hand, still clutching his amulet, jerked up to brace against his chest, trying to shove him away weakly. There truly wasn’t much strength left in him, even as the Angel pressed two fingers to his forehead.

Castiel’s brow furrowed as he worked, trying to take care of the more immediate things first. Those hunters had done a number on him. Most of the flesh wounds were easy enough, there was just a lot. Even the broken bones mended without protest, which included more than just his fingers.

“What…why are you….” Healings didn’t usually hurt, but then that might just be the curse. According to Gabriel it didn’t hurt Sam.

“Did they remove your liver?” Castiel asked incredulously, a little irritated at having to regrow the thing.

“They were poetic bastards.”

“What sort of curse did they put on you?”

“It’s an old one Alistair…motherfucker gave ‘em…Fay blood…..”

Castiel winced sympathetically. Fay were tricky creatures, what with their being in an adjacent dimension. Thankfully he hadn’t had to deal with them much, but while he knew how to deal with this, he couldn’t heal it directly. Something he’d learned the hard way when he’d been tasked with handling Fay fallout in the past.

“Why’re you helping me?”

“Because you’re Sam Winchester’s brother.”

“So?”

“So I’ve been spending too much time around humans.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Sleep.”

Before the Demon could comment, Castiel tapped the tip of his nose with his fingertips. His eyes rolled back and he went limp, out cold. Glad to be rid of the complaining, Castiel pushed aside his newly mended hand to take a better look at his torso wounds. Everything else had healed up well enough, but those two hadn’t. A long cut ran diagonally across his right pectoral, opposite his heart. Just below it was the hole through which Castiel could see his freshly grown liver. They must have used a cursed blade for these wounds, or used these wounds to inlay the curse that was causing the most trouble. He’d have to stitch them up the old fashioned away and let them heal at human speed, once he took care of the curse itself.

The Angel had just come to this conclusion when he felt it. A twinge when he started directing serious effort into what he’d guessed to be truth or torture spells. Most evaporated at a touch. A few were tougher, but manageable. He’d dealt with worse.

His trouble was with the curse he suspected Alistair had provided. He hadn’t seen something like this in some time. Mostly because the ingredients it had to be drawn in were hard to come by. Considering Alistair was supposed to specialize in torture, perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. He’d gone all-out for his old apprentice. If he had any sense Castiel would let it work, or finish the job. The last thing the humans needed was another alive and kicking Knight of Hell, but as he’d said, he’d been spending too much time around his Father’s prized creations. Apparently, their sense of sentiment was contagious. Like the flu.

He would need to stitch him up. He would need a needle and thread of some sort. Probably bandages, and that was assuming he could break the curse before his ten hours were up. A place to ward and hide him until the healing was done. He’d need food and medical care in the meantime, otherwise the healing would take an age. Even with the best circumstances he’d seen Angels laid up for a month with such wounds.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Castiel set about folding Dean’s wings out of the way and hefting the wounded Demon over his shoulder. He winced as he felt blood not his own leaking into his trench coat. Gabriel would owe him for this.


	2. Chapter 2

One good thing about forests like the one he’d found Dean in, there were scattered abodes humans didn’t always remember were there. There was one he’d stumbled upon one patrol when he’d ventured farther from the perimeter than he’d technically should have. The old man had died peacefully in his sleep, but apparently he’d been without family or connections enough for someone to come looking for him. Castiel had buried him, given him a marker and made sure his soul had gone up rather than down. Honestly he hadn’t thought about needing to use his home, but he didn’t think the fellow would mind.

It was just as empty as he remembered when he landed on its porch, opening the door. He tramped across the cabin, not a difficult feat considering the place only had three rooms. One was a bathroom, the second a bedroom, the third had, well, everything else. Makeshift kitchen, table, living room. There was a basement too, but he didn’t feel like lugging the Demon downstairs.

The Angel tramped across dusty floors, sidling his way through the bedroom door, and dumping his charge on the bed. Dean was still unconscious, limp wings falling to either side of the bed, freshly healed flesh hitting the floor. Castiel stepped back, dusting himself off, grimacing when he saw how much Demon blood stained his coat. He’d either have to ditch it or find a good excuse. Considering he didn’t want to have to report so much as a minor encounter on his route, especially if he was going to be nursing a Knight of Hell, he’d probably end up doing the former.

For a moment Castiel wondered if he should make a Devil’s Trap, then discarded the idea. Dean would still be weak for some time, nothing he couldn’t handle. The tricky part would be getting this information to Gabriel. He couldn’t just tell Sam, unfortunately. A condition of Sam’s being allowed out of Gabriel’s chambers without being killed on sight was that he stay in Heaven for a decade. He’d talked about his brother a lot when Castiel had spent time with him. Likely he’d want to come see him, but Dean couldn’t go to Heaven in his condition, and Sam couldn’t come down, so it was best not to mention it yet. On the other hand, it might be beneficial to have an Archangel on his side in this. Angels who’d object to a Seraph wouldn’t dare cross Gabriel.

But he’d deal with that later. He still had a good deal of time before he was expected back with the rest of his squadron. Tossing his coat over the back of an armchair, Castiel started searching drawers and cabinets. In truth he wasn’t expecting to find much, considering the hermit had been a lifelong bachelor.

He did find an unused sewing kit in one drawer, a first aid kit in another. None of the food was any good, some of it appeared to be attempting to become its own ecosystem. He threw out all of it, then checked the cabinets, looking for human medicine. None of the actual medicine would do him any good, but he found a bottle of rubbing alcohol, another of hydrogen peroxide. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but in his condition Castiel would need to clean the wounds before closing them.

The Angel brought his haul to the bedroom, dumping it all onto the table that sat by the bed. Rolling up his sleeves, he got to work. He’d need to deal with the curse, but first he needed to make sure Dean wouldn’t die of blood loss in the meantime.

The chest wound was easier to tend, for all it took a good thirty stitches to close it up. Getting the other gash to close was trickier, he had to hold things in as well as keep the flaps of skin together long enough to secure a stitch. It was slow, bloody work, but he managed. At least the Demon wasn’t awake to howl when he poured alcohol and peroxide over them, before and after. He doused them in water too, washing out the wounds. The old man had apparently liked his comforts as well as isolation, he’d kept a generator and a water pump, both of which still worked. The shower even had hot water.

Satisfied his patient would last the night, Castiel washed the blood from his hands and checked the money box. He carried human currency, but it was from his last light-duty posting. America, not Canada. He’d need Canadian currency if he was to purchase supplies.

Pocketing the notes and coins, Castiel set about warding the cabin. Nothing fancy, he could add more later, but enough to shield it from notice for the short term. Only when he was sure he’d done a passable job did he take flight again, going high enough to scan the surrounding hundred-mile radius or so. There were a few small, scattered towns about, but considering it was roughly midnight in this time zone he’d have to find something that was open so late. As it was he had to fly nearly two hundred miles to the nearest settlement.

Castiel found a pharmacy store first, passing by a gas station that appeared to be still open as well. He could get food there, or at the dollar store across the street, but first he’d need more supplies. Even if he could take care of the curse, in all likelihood Dean would be reduced to human healing rates. He’d need human medicine.

Glad he’d shed his bloody coat and washed his hands clean of gore, Castiel selected one of the handheld baskets and ignored the dozing cashier as he marched into the isles. It had been a while, but he liked to monitor human development. For all he’d seen and experienced the vast range of behavior they could exhibit, good and bad, he was still very fond of humans. They were fascinating creatures, always had been, it was why he was so willing to defend them. Not just because it was their standing orders, but because he genuinely wanted to protect them.

He gathered more rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, knowing he’d likely need to clean the wound repeatedly until the curse was lifted. Bandages, the sticky things called Band-Aids, a box of gauze, medical scissors, roller bandages, tubes of antiseptic, and a bottle of painkillers. It would get annoying to knock him out all the time, so perhaps those would keep him quiet.

The cashier looked at him oddly when he dumped everything on her counter, but she rang everything up and he paid. From there he crossed the street to the dollar store, where he acquired a few more bags of foodstuffs. He ended up having to make two trips, dumping everything at the cabin and going back out again. This time he went to the gas station, his new target fluids. A pack of water bottles, and two large glass bottles of alcohol. Whisky, since while he was partial to vodka, Sam’s stories had always mentioned that instead. These were also to shut the Demon up about whatever pain he was in, and possibly for Castiel himself depending on how things went.

Supplies gathered and stowed, Castiel perched on the edge of the bed a still unconscious Demon lay on, and spread a hand out over his sutured wounds. His brow furrowed, eyes closing as he focused on feeling around. He gave a tentative poke with his grace, but when he didn’t feel anything he kept going.

Almost immediately he jerked back, recoiling with both grace and body when he felt the curse try latching on to _him._ Would it do that if someone tried to remove it? Damned Fay influence. He’d have to be careful.

Tracing a basic Fay ward in the air, Castiel tried again, splaying a hand over one wound. He felt the Demon’s breath stutter under his palm, but he didn’t stir as Castiel pressed on. It took several tries, over multiple minutes, but he got a feel for the thing. It was latched on to the Knight of Hell’s very life force like a tick, and would need to be removed very carefully. More importantly, Castiel recognized it.

He lurched to his feet, pacing the small bedroom slowly, raking a hand back through his hair. At a guess he had eight hours, perhaps less. Thankfully Angels weren’t humans, like the rest of his squadron Castiel had twenty-four hour shifts, and would only be off for twelve. Meaning he had time to work the remaining eight hours to break the curse, the only question was how he’d go about it. He hadn’t seen this curse in centuries. Last time had been when it had been laid on a group of Angels as retaliation for banishing a group of Fay back to their own world. They’d managed to save most of them, but not all.

Deciding he’d have to move fast, Castiel left the cabin a third time, taking to the air and moving at the flight speed humans called teleportation. It was a shame he couldn’t gloat, his own underlings had teased him about keeping tabs on hunters and Men of Letters alike. Now that would come in handy.

After brief consideration he decided his best bet at finding all the ingredients necessary would be to find the remains of the hunters who’d done this. While he doubted they’d been left alive, he also knew Dean had been in rough shape. If he had the survival drive to get away, maybe he’d prioritize it over killing those who’d done it to them. Currently, anyway. Likely he’d be out for blood if Castiel managed to keep him alive.

There were approximately five clusters of hunters in Canada that were acting under the Men of Letters orders with Men of Letters gear. In the nearest states south of the border, there were three. Men of Letters were aware of Angels and Demons, more so than most humans. They had treaties of sorts, he’d known Demons and Angels alike who’d worked with them over the years. Otherwise, they kept out of the affairs of Heaven and Hell, and the favor was returned. Castiel had never dealt with them directly before, but if this first attempt didn’t work he might have to resort to it. Some were well enough, others were not. There was a reason he preferred hunters.

Considering Dean was on death’s door when he’d flown to safety, Castiel was impressed with the distance he’d managed. He found no trace of Alistair’s meddling at the first hunter’s outpost or the second. He had to fly into the next province before he managed that, circling a heavily warded bunker of sorts. Not of the fancy variety, but well enough to do its job. More importantly, it was the first that was warded against Angels, not Angels and Demons. They would have had to lower those to let Alistair and their prisoner in.

Careful to keep himself cloaked to human eyes, the Seraph touched down just outside their door, studying the wards. They could be delicate things, the slightest change could corrupt them. Either this batch of hunters was lazy, or they weren’t overly favored by their masters in the Men of Letters. All the wards were of the same two designs.

Lifting his chin slightly, Castiel decided to conserve his energy and move dealing with the things to Plan B. Hoping Plan A would work, he stayed invisible as he reached up to bang on the heavy bunker door. He waited approximately thirty seconds, then banged five more times. He was on his fourth round of banging when he heard footsteps on the other side. He lowered his hand, then let his blade drop back into his palm, waiting.

It took a moment, but the door squeaked as a lock was turned, and then the door itself opened with a shriek. Castiel found himself facing a hunter that was undoubtedly intoxicated, a bottle of very fine brandy in one hand, half empty. He stuck his head out, peering around blearily.

“I’m telling you there’s nothing here,” he called over his shoulder.

Castiel chose that moment to become visible, and he had the distinct pleasure of watching red rimmed eyes go wide as he stepped forward, laying the tip of his blade on the human’s neck. “I would prefer not to hurt you, if possible. Answer my questions, and I will leave you be.”

“Who- what are you?”

“No one of import. Do you know what became of the Demon you were intended to torture and kill?”

Bloodshot eyes widened. “Demon? What are you talking about?”

Rather than try stepping inside, knowing the wards wouldn’t allow it, he grabbed the hunter by the collar and yanked him outside. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Alistair had you torture and kill a Knight of Hell. You were given a curse to do so. I would like the antidote, if you please.”

“Antidote? Curses don’t have antidotes.”

“No sane being creates something of that nature without having something on hand to undo it. Even Alistair knew that. Now kindly provide me with the ingredients and spell, and it will be like I was never here.”

“I don’t know, man, what are you anyway? No one knows about this place, except the Brits.”

Castiel huffed, “Are you going to be of use, or will I need to do it myself?”

When this didn’t provide him with an answer he liked, Castiel heaved a weary sigh. “Very well. You really shouldn’t drink to excess, it’s not healthy. And it impairs your memory.”

Before the hunter could ask, Castiel sheathed his blade and tapped them on the forehead. He caught the bottle before it could slip from now limp fingers, dragging the unconscious human out of the way and propping him against the bunker’s cinderblock wall. Setting the bottle against his leg, the Angel took up a position outside the open door, sinking to one knee and taking his blade in hand.

The Seraph drew his grace to the surface, feeling it glowing through his eyes as he raised his blade and brought the tip down hard against the ground. A wave of power rolled out from him, and the angelic wards lit up. Another strike, and they went molten. Lips twitching, he kept going. It would take longer since there was only one of him, but he was focusing his attention forward, on the bunker. Hopefully that would expedite things.

Hunters came running, of course. They tried to shoot him, but with silver and lead. Their bullets were nothing, and he kept going. He did pause whenever one tried to charge him, to sedate them with a touch before he resumed his work.

In truth it wasn’t a technique many of his kind were privy to, especially since it involved slamming raw grace against wards, chipping away at them. But he was old enough to have seen it done, and to have participated before. Since there was only one of him he had to be more strategic about it, melting the sigils just enough to disable them.

By the time he was done no less than five hunters were sprawled about him, dead to the world but otherwise unharmed. Well, perhaps their pride was damaged, but he’d fixed that. It wouldn’t do for them to remember him.

At last the sigils melted until they were distorted enough for their power to fade. He rose stiffly, letting his grace fade. Shifting his blade to his left hand, he set about going from one hunter to the other, shifting their memories until all they would know would be passing out after indulging in too much drink. Then began the process of lugging them inside, placing them around the table they’d been drinking at, stowing their weapons, and gathering all the spent shells to discard. He even reloaded all their weapons, just to be sure. This was hardly the first time he’d had to adjust human memories, the sharper ones only required the slightest tip-off that something wasn’t right. He’d learned that the hard way.

Only when he was satisfied they’d be oblivious to his presence, save the sigils if they ever dealt with other Angels, did Castiel start seriously searching their bunker. He checked the front rooms, but while he did find an arsenal and a lot of salt, there were no tools for spell work. Seeing as there was no attic, he turned his attention to the basement.

There he had more luck. He’d no sooner opened the door than he smelled traces of sulfur. Instinctively palming his blade, flipping on the electric light, Castiel slowly descended the stairs. This level was a single, open space, and a quick scan showed him to be the only occupant. He still kept a hand on his blade, though. It was hard not to, with the reek of Demon blood in his nose. It hung in the air, for all the hunters themselves had bathed and discarded their clothes. It looked as though they’d hosed down the area, traces of blood clinging to the drains, more clinging to the table that had broken manacles dangling from it. Tools had been left on worktables, which had not been cleaned either. Likely the source of the blood scent in his nose as well as the Demon’s wounds.

Shaking his head, tampering battlefield instincts that urged him to flee, Castiel started checking shelves and cabinets. This wasn’t a battlefield, he was alone but he was in no danger. He just had to find this damned spell and get out again.

Only when he’d checked everywhere else did Castiel open the safe. He had to snap the lock to do it, hoping they’d write it off as something Dean had done in his escape or some such a thing. Humans could believe a lot if alcohol was involved.

The safe itself was small, but inside sat an array of jars, vials, and a parchment. Castiel took them out, wincing as his hands stung. Even this had been warded. Shaking out his fingers, he lay everything out on the nearest worktable, going over it. His cuneiform was a little rusty, but he was able to make sense of the script. He checked to make sure all the ingredients were there before gathering everything up again.

Castiel closed both the basement door and the front door before taking off, landing back outside the old man’s cabin. Heaving a sigh, he tramped inside, closing the door. The Angel was laying everything out on the kitchen counter when an irate voice called, “Hey, Junkless, that you?”

The Angel paused, eyes narrowing. Junkless? “I beg your pardon?” he asked, going to stand in the bedroom’s doorway.

“Did you seriously ‘boop’ me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you would have wiggled and complained. This was easier.” He also happened to like to boop. Not that he needed to explain himself, thank you.

“What’d you do to me?” he demanded, dragging himself up to his elbows. “Where am I?”

Castiel rattled off the exact longitude and latitude, then stated, “I healed you. Mostly.”

Dean was in the process of eyeing his stitched torso. He poked his ribs, then winced. “Damn curse. You know it’s Fay, right?”

“Yes.”

“Any idea how to break it?”

“Yes.”

When he left it at that, the Demon demanded, “And?”

“And what?”

“Are you gonna break it?”

“Yes. I was in the process of assembling the antidote when you interrupted me.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed in understandable suspicion. “Yeah? How’d you come by those?”

“I found the nearest batch of hunters under Men of Letters protection that had traces of sulfur and Demon blood.” Dean didn’t need to know about the wards. “Working with curses is akin to working with contagious diseases. You require the antidote to do so safely.”

“Alistair never gave a shit about safety. Last I checked Men of Letters didn’t care about their attack dogs much either.”

“No, but likely it was part of their agreement. I’ve seen this before, I remember enough to know this is the proper spell and ingredients. Now if you don’t mind, by my approximation you have roughly six hours left, and it will take time to assemble- “

“Alright, alright, go back to whatever. Tell me you gutted those mooks. You know what, scratch that. I wanna do it myself.”

Castiel paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “I left them alive, I removed traces of my presence, and I adjusted their memories. It would be less trouble. Hunters tend to keep track of their own, and I have no interest in involving myself with the Men of Letters.”

“Then why’d you do it? Why bother?”

“It would be simpler than tracking down the ingredients and spell myself. Considering you will expire shortly I thought it best to be frugal with my time. Now will you be quiet, or will I have to sedate you again?”

“You ain’t touching me anymore. Got it?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at that. “Even to fix you?”

“I’ll fix myself.”

“If you say so.”

“Is there any food in this shack? Anything to drink?”

“If I feed you will you quiet?”

“Sure.”

Shaking his head, Castiel went back to the kitchen. He wasn’t much for food preparation, but he could manage a basic sandwich. He assembled two PB&J’s, then put aside a third for himself. He carried the first two in to Dean, along with one of the whisky bottles. His face lit up in a grin at the bottle, and he reached out with both hands to take them.

“You got the good stuff, huh?”

“Hardly.”

He went back to the kitchen, munching on his sandwich as he went to work. He ground the fulgurite piece in a bowl, laid down the feather of a fairy atop the powder, then set a pot on the stove to start heating water. He’d forgotten the siren fangs would need boiling.

The water was starting to simmer when the Demon called, “You warded this place, right?”

“Yes, it’s warded.”

“Like, good?”

“Suitably. I will reinforce them later.”

“Why ain’t I in a Devil’s Trap?”

Drumming his fingers on the counter, Castiel demanded, “Would you prefer to be in Devil’s Trap?”

“Just think it’s weird I ain’t.”

Trudging back to the doorway, Castiel stated, “Once the curse has been dealt with, I will lay down a Devil’s Trap. But bear in mind that would mean you would be unable to visit the bathroom.”

That seemed to give Dean pause.

“I will ward things sufficiently, for both our sakes. I’ve invested energy in your survival, it’s to my benefit to keep you alive.”

“Why is that again?”

Castiel regarded him for a moment, then decided he’d keep that bit of information to himself for the time being. Without answering, the Angel turned and went back to the kitchen. His water was boiling.

Once the siren fangs were cooked enough for him to remove the marrow, he added them to his mixing bowl. It took time, some things needed to be blended separately, and he had to go fetch fresh shojo blood, which was a pain and a half. The foolish humans had led it dry out.

Satisfied he had the thing assembled properly, Castiel carried his bowl into the bedroom. Dean had eaten both sandwiches by this point and was apparently chugging the whisky. There was only half the large bottle left.

“What is that?”

“The cure. Hold still, it needs your blood.”

“My what?” He grunted as Castiel nicked his arm, drawing a line of blood long enough to get some into his palm.

Absently healing the wound, Castiel began to drizzle the ‘fresh blood of the afflicted’ into his brew, reciting the spell. There wasn’t a glow or a flash, but then there wasn’t always. Funny enough, with the more potent potions there was less to indicate they were just that.

“Is that it?”

“Let’s find out.” Without further ado, he dipped his hand into the potion, then plastered a splayed handprint on Dean’s torso, over the two stitched wounds. He recited the rest of the spell, then removed his hand.

At first there was nothing. Dean looked down, raising an unimpressed brow. “That it?”

Before Castiel could comment, dark purple light shot up from the handprint. The Demon’s eyes bulged, his back arching clear off the bed, limbs going rigid, wings straining out to either side. A pained croak was dragged from his throat, followed by a truly impressive litany of curses in various languages, each more archaic than the last. Castiel took a step back, grace flaring in his eyes defensively as he watched the curse carefully.

For a moment it seemed to fight, holding together, then it began to unravel. It took its sweet time, during which Dean kept right on grinding out enough profanity Castiel honestly expected paint to start peeling. Not that he could blame him. From what he understood, this sort of curse hurt even as you removed its grip from the inflicted.

Eventually, as the final binding fell away and evaporated, the Knight of Hell went silent. His eyes rolled back into his skull, muscles going limp. After a beat of silence, Castiel set the bowl aside and went to check his patient. He leaned over, setting two fingers on Dean’s forehead again. This time there was no curse to hinder him, as far as he could tell the only issue was that specialized weapons had been used. Dean would still be left to heal at slower rates, but he was able to purge the few infections that were trying to set in, and prod things along. The actual wound and stitches would be left on their own, and his strength would need to regenerate itself in time, but most of the internal damage he could now mend.

Eyes a surprising shade of evergreen flickered open as Castiel withdrew his fingers.

“I’m fixed,” he croaked, sounding surprised.

“Not exactly. You’re still wounded, your strength is still sapped, but there is no longer a parasitic curse latched onto you. You will live.” Rising to his feet, the Angel added, “Kindly don’t make me regret it.”

“You still haven’t told me why you’re doing this.”

“I owe you no explanation.”

As he turned, picking up the bowl of potion he’d now have to discard, Dean asked, “Is it because you know Sam?”

“Partly.”

“Anything else I should know about?”

Castiel was prepared to ignore him. He was tired, looking forward to resting once he was off patrol for all he’d also need to find a way to get a message to Gabriel. That being said, now was as good a time as any to get some answers for himself. While the Knight of Hell was at his weakest, and what the Angel had done for him fresh.

Sam Winchester had not been taken out of convenience. He had been a target. For all he and Dean were some of the newest Knights of Hell among the ranks, they’d made names for themselves. Princes of Hell were mostly dispersed by this point, preferring their own pastimes. Only two were active in a combat capacity, Asmodeus and Azazel. That being said, among his fellow ranking Angels, Castiel knew the names of those you least wanted to face in the battlefield. Abandon, even though she was older, was preferable. Castiel had had the distinct displeasure of facing both Azazel and Asmodeus on separate occasions. Frankly one was a disappointment and the other was a predictable fanatic easily outmaneuvered. No, the two leaders you least wanted to face were the brothers Winchester. They were brutal, fearless. Worse, they were smart. The sort of Demons who led their soldiers from the front with war cries in their throats and weapons in their hands. While most leaders, especially Princes and Knights, treated their soldiers as expendable, they did not.

This was part of why Castiel had kept Dean alive. Perhaps it would have been enough, knowing Sam cared for him, and knowing this would garner him favor with an Archangel. But then he’d heard of Dean, even before Sam had come to Heaven. He might be a Demon, but he was an expert tactician. He only sent troops into battles where angelic forces were already uneasy. He avoided involving human populations unless there was something to be gained. He was also the only leader in Hell Castiel had ever heard give a retreat order, rather than fighting to the last Demon, apart from Sam. It wasn’t much, granted, but considering Dean had a ‘kill on sight’ order on his head it was enough to make him hesitate. Hesitate long enough to think of his options.

“You give retreat orders. Why?”

Dean stared at him a moment, then, “You’re kidding, right?”

“That’s not my reason, but it is an inquiry I didn’t think I’d get the chance to make.”

The Demon rolled his eyes, dropping his head back on a pillow. “I ain’t stupid, and I ain’t got so much pride I’m gonna beat a dead horse when there’s no gain. Demons are a limited resource, why waste ‘em?”

“Is it really so simple?”

“Why not?”

Chiding himself for expecting anything more, Castiel left him. He discarded the potion, cleaned his hand, stowed the remaining ingredients, then stepped outside the cabin. He reached out both palms, grace flaring briefly in his eyes as a Devil’s Trap etched itself into the ground around the cabin.

He was lowering his hands when he heard a faint, “Are you shitting me?!” from inside the cabin.

Mouth twitching in a faint smile, he stepped back inside. “Something wrong?”

“The hell’d you do?”

Wandering back to stand in the doorway, hands in his pockets, Castiel pointed out innocently, “I thought you wanted a Devil’s Trap.”

“I wanted to know why there wasn’t one, or why there weren’t stronger wards,” Dean protested.

“It will contain you, not hamper you. Your healing won’t be slowed any more than it's already been. I need to go, there are some things I’ll need to handle before I’m off duty. Before I leave I’ll add to the wards. Do you require help to use the facilities before I go?”

That earned him a glower that belied just how weak he knew this Demon to be.

“There is food and more drink in the kitchen. Try not to eat all of it before I return.”

“When’ll that be?”

“Less than a day.” He would have given a more exact time, but he was reluctant to grant a Demon any more knowledge of their ways than he had to. “Try to stay alive.”

“You’re a real optimist, ain’t you?”

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t.”

**~~~BREAK/BREAK\BREAK~~~**

Favors might not be held as dear to them on this dimension as they were to the Fay, but they were important. Castiel had earned many over his centuries. He’d come to owe, too, but he owed far less than he had. He liked to have them to hand, but rarely used them. People liked him for that, which he probably would have taken advantage of if he had a care for popularity or politics.

Once he left the newly warded cabin, Castiel pondered his options as he flew one more circuit of his assigned route before heading back. He shuffled through who owed him how much, then filtered those he could trust with something delicate. While he didn’t enjoy the idea of using a fledgling, it was his best bet. Samandriel was a sweet thing, he’d only done one year as a soldier before asking to be put on duty in Heaven. Currently he was low enough he served primarily as a messenger, which meant no one would think anything of his going between Heaven and Earth. Better still, he was due to pick up reports today. He’d been under Castiel’s proverbial wing, and after the third time saving his life Samandriel damn near worshiped him. He would carry a message to Gabriel if Castiel asked it of him, and he was too guileless to peek.

Reluctant plan set in place, the Angel landed just outside their current base of operations. A plant of some sort humans had abandoned a decade or so ago, nice and isolated. He absentmindedly saluted those guarding its lone entrance, trudging inside, folding warm wings to his back.

He almost made it to the showers before Uriel stopped him. The man was a good soldier, but a little too…traditional, for Castiel’s liking. He looked forward to the next rotation when he could pass him to someone else’s squadron without it looking unfavorable.

Rather than pass him by in the hallway, the other Angel paused and asked, “Was there trouble on your patrol, Castiel?”

Face as calm as ever, Castiel only shrugged. “I’ve grown restless. There was a vampire nest on the outskirts of a human town. I thought I’d try basic combat to eliminate them rather than smite them.”

Uriel shook his head, but he was smiling. He was an older Angel himself, but he got twitchy on quieter postings. “I thought it was just me. Was it fun, rolling with the rats?”

“It provided amusement. I’d like to clean up before I write my reports.”

“Indeed. Don’t let me keep you.”

Castiel gladly moved on, shedding his clothes and standing under a stream of water as hot as he could bear. He could clean his clothes easily enough, Demon blood was what made things tricky. Hence why he’d discarded his favorite coat rather than waste his time. He’d have to procure a new one, he felt odd without it. Human fashion was a highly changeable thing, but he’d been able to wear that for decades and still blend in easily enough. Not to mention it was comfortable and had pockets that could be highly useful.

The Angel sidestepped in the shower stall, carefully expanding one wing. He ran it under the stream, ruffling the feathers, combing his fingers through them carefully. Then he moved to do the same to his opposite wing. Not too much, otherwise the oils would be cleared completely and his feathers would get dry, but he liked cleaning them. It felt good, and kept the jet black feathers healthy. On their good days, without battlefield dust and muck and blood, they were so dark and gleaming their sheen was navy blue. They were his one vanity, something he was quite proud of. His vessel supposedly looked a good deal like he had in his human life, but he cared little for it beyond its functionality. But his wings? They were broad, powerful, strong, nimble, but only if properly maintained. Something it seemed to take fledglings time to understand.

Clean, and feeling better thanks to the hot water, Castiel pulled on clothes he’d more or less willed clean, lacing up his boots. As leader of his squadron, his quarters were once the office of someone of import. He’d kept the large desk, and put in a cot against the far wall. He sat to write up his reports, which were more lies than truth. At least since he was saying all was quiet, and reviewing reports from his squadron that said the same, it didn’t take long. Meaning he had time to take out a fresh sheet of paper and stare at it for an inappropriately long time before deciding just what sort of message he wanted to send.

He’d sealed up the one page letter, and was gathering the reports into one folder when someone knocked on his door.

“Enter.”

The door swung open, Samandriel letting himself in and shutting it behind himself. He saluted the Seraph, a pleasant expression on his face. “Hello, Castiel. I’m here for the reports.”

“These are them,” he said, passing him the folder. “I have a favor to ask of you, after you deliver them.”

Big blue eyes stared up at him as the Seraph slowly stood up from his chair. “Of course. Name it.”

Castiel hesitated, then picked up the sealed sheet of paper. “You can’t speak of it to anyone. If anyone asks, you’re delivering a sweet recipe I promised to procure. Though I doubt they’ll question you.”

“Why not?”

“Because this goes to Gabriel. No one else.”

If possible, Samandriel’s eyes went even wider. “Gabriel? The Archangel? This goes to….”

Castiel’s lips twitched. Like many fledglings, Samandriel was in awe of the Archangels. Gabriel just happened to be the one they got to see themselves, none of the others were willing to soil themselves with the presence of fledglings. “If you ask nicely, I’m sure he’ll be happy to let you have some of his latest concoctions for your trouble.”

Samandriel beamed. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Is that all?”

“Yes. Dismissed. And thank you, Alfie.”

The addition of his preferred nickname had the young Angel practically bouncing out of his office. Shaking his head, for all he appreciated the guilelessness of youth, Castiel stretched stiffly. He yawned, trudging over to the cot. He shed his boots, setting them neatly by its foot, then lay down on the blankets. After you got used to getting snatches of rest in foxholes and battlegrounds, a place like this was as comfortable as he’d ever enjoyed. It didn’t take long before unconsciousness settled in, which he gladly embraced. He was going to need it.


	3. Chapter 3

The next time he was out on patrol, Castiel had planned on doing a few rounds before going to the cabin. In truth he only managed one out of obligation before he flew out to it. Someone was waiting for him, triple layered wings of faintly luminescent gold folded loosely at their back, eyes glowing with grace as a lollipop was lazily licked.

As Castiel touched down he greeted, “Thank you for coming, brother.”

Gabriel cocked an eyebrow at him, twirling his sweet. “I’m glad the kid opted out of service so fast. He’s not built for it. Now what’s with the cloak and dagger? Thought you preferred things straight and honest.”

“Alfie is better suited to where he is now,” Castiel agreed. He hesitated a beat, stopping a respectful distance from the Archangel. “Cloak and dagger?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, fishing the now rumbled and open letter from his coat pocket. Thrusting his sucker into his mouth and rolling it to one cheek, he read off the coordinates Castiel had penned down. “’Meet me at this location at your earliest convenience. Come alone. Be sure you’re not followed.’” As he set the letter aflame, destroying the evidence, he pointed out, “For you, that’s cloak and dagger.”

“It’s…complicated.”

Motioning to the cabin, Gabriel mused, “Must be big. That’s some serious warding. And the most complex Devil’s Trap humans ever produced. I didn’t know it was here until I landed.”

The younger Angel hesitated, then admitted, “Perhaps it would be simpler for me to show you.”

Gabriel waved him towards the front door with his sweet, grace fading from his eyes, face bemused.

Castiel climbed up to the porch, opening the door. He’d barely set foot inside before a voice was calling, “Finally! I’m starving. That food didn’t last long. And we’re out of whisky.”

He winced as Gabriel followed him inside, eyebrows arching. “Who’ve you got in here, Cassie?”

Before he could comment, Dean lurched to the doorway. His forehead was sheened with sweat, his skin so ashen Castiel could see his freckles from across the room, wings limp at his back, legs visibly unsteady. He stiffened at the sight of Gabriel, whose blade dropped into his palm. One hand curled into a fist where it was braced against the door jamb, like Dean was honestly prepared to fight for all he could barely stand.

“Cassie?” Gabriel asked warningly.

“His name is Dean.”

The Archangel stilled, gold eyes flicking to him. “Winchester?”

“What’s it to you, Chuckles?”

“Why does he get Chuckles, but I’m Junkless?”

“You ain’t an Archangel. Seriously, who’s this guy? Thought all your big bads were narcissistic asshats.”

“Most are,” Castiel admitted, for all if word of his opinion got out he’d be up for court martial. “This is Gabriel. If I’m to invest the time and energy in your healing, I’ll need sufficient cover. I’ll also need someone to vouch for me and you once it’s completed.”

Gabriel, meanwhile, had stowed his blade and resumed his relaxed stance. He seemed decidedly intrigued as he studied the Knight of Hell, or what was left of him. “What happened to you? Thought you were a big bad yourself.”

That earned him a shaky smile. “Up yours, Chuckles.”

Castiel cleared his throat. “He prefers Gabriel, actually.”

“I see the attitude is a family trait,” the Archangel mused, seemingly more amused than offended.

“Wait, you’re the guy who snagged Sammy?”

“Yep. Don’t worry, he’s fine, he’s doing good. Misses you, though. Shame I can’t mention you.” Gaze flicking to Castiel, Gabriel added, “I’ll make the necessary arrangements when the time comes. And I’ll add a boost to your wards, just to be on the safe side.”

“Thank you, brother.” Castiel inclined his head solemnly, relieved. He’d been sure Gabriel would help, but nothing was certain. As it was, he knew only it being so out of character and the simple fact Gabriel could squash him like an insect if need be had led the Archangel do come out here like he’d asked. Most wouldn’t have, just on principle.

“Where the fuck is my brother?” Dean demanded.

“Safe and sound up in Heaven,” Gabriel promised. “As long as he’s given access to enough reading material, and I make sure he can stretch his wings a few times a week, he’s the most low maintenance lover I’ve ever had.”

Castiel raised a brow, acutely aware of the somewhat strangled sound Dean had made. “’Lover’? I thought your preferred term was ‘mate’.”

“It is. Speaking of which, I need to swing by France before I head home. I promised I’d bring him fresh ingredients for dinner.”

“Can you bring him here?” the Knight of Hell demanded.

“No can do. Sam’s on lockdown for a decade. Condition of parole. He plays nice for that long, the powers that be will decide he’s fully converted and let him out of Heaven. And no, I’m not bringing you up there yet. In your condition you wouldn’t make it.”

“He’s right. Once you’re healed we can revisit the issue,” Castiel promised. Mostly in an effort to cut off this mouthy Demon’s attitude at the pass, on this at least.

“Can you at least tell him I’m here? We haven’t made contact in over two years.”

“Nope. If I do that he’ll drive himself nuts, then risk his neck trying to get down here. I’ll tell him all about you when he can see you safely.”

Marching forward, Castiel slid an arm under Dean’s and took most of his weight, dragging him back to the bed and dumping him back onto it. “Lie down before you fall down. You can’t push yourself so soon after a healing. You’re to stay in bed unless it’s to eat, bathe, or use the facilities.”

Dean grunted on impact, glaring up at him. “Why the hell should I listen to you?”

“You’re not a fool.” Backing away from the bed, he remembered the Demon’s initial greeting. “Did you consume all the food? I told you to make it last.”

“A healing takes it out of you, I was _starving,”_ Dean complained as the Angel went to check the kitchen. Sure enough, most of the bread was gone, all the stuff he’d gotten to put on sandwiches was gone, and all that remained of the rest of the food was one lone can of soup. Two empty whisky bottles sat by the sink.

Picking up one of them, he asked, “Was it necessary to consume all the alcohol? How are you not intoxicated?” Angels and Demons had a much higher tolerance than humans, and could consume a great deal more sustenance, but there were still limits.

“The painkillers didn’t do jack. High tolerance.”

Heaving a sigh, Castiel noted, “I will get more. Perhaps in larger quantities.” He’d have to lay hands on more human currency, too.

Gabriel followed him into the kitchen. Lowering his voice he mused, “You treat him like an injured soldier in your care. And here I thought you killed Demons on sight.”

“Normally I do. But he was wounded, I thought I’d get some information before he expired. That led to my discovering he was more valuable alive than dead.” He opened the can of soup, putting it into a pot and turning on the stove to heat it. “Would you have done different?”

“Sam has allowed me to see things in his mind. I know what he looks like. I probably would keep him unconscious more, but…I’d keep him alive too.”

“This will take time. We’re meant to be here for a year, and I can arrange to take the distant patrols, my squadron will be grateful for it. There shouldn’t be any suspicion on that front.”

“It’ll take a month at least before he’s near to healed,” Gabriel muttered, folding his arms. “Think you can keep from killing him that long?”

“I’ll have to. I’m fond of Sam. I would rather not tell him I killed his brother because he got too annoying.”

Gabriel chuckled. “At least I won’t have to.” He hesitated a moment, then said, “If you do this, I’ll owe you. I already owe you for what you’ve done. I know you don’t go looking for favors, but don’t try to tell me this didn’t cross your mind.”

“It was a primary drive. As far as Dean’s aware it’s my only reason for doing this. I’d rather not admit to how fond I am of Sam.”

Lips curling in a knowing smirk, Gabriel added, “Or how intrigued you were with the brother Knights of Hell.”

Castiel winced, glad Gabriel still kept his voice down. “No. Aside from you and Hannah no one is aware of that. I intend to keep it that way.”

Gabriel didn’t comment on that. Instead he returned to normal volume and asked, “Is there a TV in here?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“He’ll be more tolerable if you can keep him entertained.”

“He’s right,” Dean called from the bedroom.

Rolling his eyes, Castiel stirred the soup. “There is no TV here. I’m not entirely sure what signals would be available this far out.”

“Then get him a laptop and a Netflix account or something. Sammy’s been binging stuff for the last few weeks. It’ll be worth it, trust me.”

“With what funds?”

“Don’t you have stashes?” Gabriel asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Castiel pursed his lips, staring into the pot of soup. “Nothing with current currency.”

“That actually works, people will trade more modern currency for older currency.” Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Have fun. Use Alfie again if need be, but I’ll be keeping tabs on things here. Hopefully there won’t be a need to make contact until you get him patched up.”

“Hopefully,” he echoed, frowning slightly. “Don’t pay us too much attention. The last thing I need is curious Angels poking around here. The bounty on him is too high to take that risk.”

“I’ve got a bounty?” Dean asked, sounding happy about this information. “How high?”

“Higher than Abaddon, lower than Lucifer.” He poured the soup into a bowl, tossed in a spoon, and went to stand in the doorway. “How did you last this long with no sense of self-preservation?”

“I have a sense of self-preservation,” Dean argued. “Is that food?”

“The last of it, unless you enjoy dry toast.”

“When’s the next chow run?”

“I don’t know. You do realize I got enough to last a family of four approximately two days?” At least that had been indicated based on the portion suggestions. Accordingly, he’d anticipated it lasting one Demon roughly a week.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I ain’t human,” Dean informed him, tapping his horns.

“If you were still human, you would hardly be such a complicated case.” He handed over the soup, hoping it would at least stem the flow of conversation.

Dean wriggled a bit, so he was sitting mostly upright against the headboard, then began slurping the soup. “Why not just get takeout?”

“I sincerely doubt anyone delivers out here.” He pondered this, then asked, “What kind of takeout?”

The Demon paused his slurping to shrug. “I’ll eat just about anything. Cheeseburgers, pizza, tacos, Chinese, barbeque. Please tell me you’re not one of those health nuts.”

Gabriel chose that moment to wander to the door, snickering. Pointing at Castiel with his lollipop he asked, “Him? I don’t think so. If they weren’t obliged to eat a balanced diet of rations he’d live off burgers and PB&J’s.”

Castiel glared at him, which would have earned him a smiting had he been another Archangel. “Don’t you need to be going?”

“That I do. Don’t kill him, I happen to like this one. And if you start killing Angels you’re going to die, and I’d really like to not have to tell Sam that.”

The Demon regarded him with an all too innocent expression. “I’m not gonna kill him. So long as he doesn’t boop me again.”

“I dunno, he likes his boops.”

“Gabriel.”

As he held up his hands, Dean noted, “He looks like an Archangel, he feels like an Archangel, but he doesn’t talk or act like an Archangel. I’ve heard some serious shit about Gabriel. You sure you’re him?”

Castiel opted not to answer that. Instead he sidestepped, allowing Gabriel to do that himself. Granted it was easy to forget, but he made it so intentionally. Gabriel liked to play pranks and tricks, liked to eat sweets and play with the fledglings. That aside, Castiel had had the honor of seeing him on the battlefield a few times. He was the youngest, but the Archangel Gabriel didn’t lack in the power department.

“I’m very sure I’m Gabriel,” said Archangel promised, smiling.

“What kind of Archangel gets his hands dirty?”

Gabriel didn’t answer that time. Not verbally. He popped his sucker into his mouth, then rolled his shoulders back, grace lighting up his eyes. Castiel took an involuntary step back as the room was suddenly lit not by electric lights, but by angelic grace in the doorway. Bright gold angelic grace radiating from Gabriel, triple layered wings thrown into sharp relief, raw power filling the room so abruptly Castiel could taste it.

At least he only let part of his strength show. Otherwise he might have damaged the house, and Castiel didn’t feel up to finding new shelter. As it was he politely lowered his gaze, and out of the corner of his eye he got the pleasure of seeing Dean’s face when he realized he was dealing with a full-fledged Archangel. Live and in the flesh.

As the glow faded, Castiel asked innocently, “Are you satisfied? Or perhaps another demonstration?”

“No, I’m good.” He managed to sound remarkably casual about it. His hands were steady as he resumed his slurping, but his eyes never left Gabriel. It was more in body language than anything else, but he seemed a bit more weary than he had before. Or perhaps that was Castiel’s imagination, considering he also commented, “Thought you’d be taller.”

“Don’t kill each other,” Gabriel warned, turning to leave and ignoring the remark.

Castiel didn’t comment. What was there to say? Pursing his lips, he mentally went back over his various stashes that would be easiest to get to from here. What would be in them. There was still some money left from the old man’s stash, but at this rate it wouldn’t last long.

“I will go procure more currency.”

As he turned to leave, Dean asked, “Ain’t you a Seraph?”

Reluctantly Castiel paused, glancing back. “Yes.”

“What’re you doing on such a crap posting in the middle of nowhere?”

“None of your concern.”

He left before Dean could press the matter. Let him think it was as punishment, and not a request. Let him think Castiel had stuck his nose out of line, pissed off a higher up, instead of being a good little soldier all his career.

His nearest stash house had various stocks he’d procured in the fifties, and he was decidedly surprised to find they were the best bet. Granted things like Johnson & Johnson hadn’t looked impressive at the time, but it had clearly paid off. It was a bit tricky, being an Angel getting these things converted on the fly, but he managed. In the end he had what he hoped to be enough currency to last him through Dean’s entire recuperation. And it only took five hours.

Castiel made several trips, flitting back and forth to get the shopping cart full of groceries to the kitchen. He found a large, trunk-like refrigeration unit in the basement, and put that to use. He also acquired five more bottles of whisky, if only to silence the Demon since it seemed modern pharmaceuticals wouldn’t quiet him.

The Angel’s last trip was to acquire a meal. He was glad to be done with it all by that point, more overwhelmed by the supplies than the actual healing he was carrying out. Deciding he deserved a treat, he found a pizza establishment and ordered four of them. One was just for himself, the other three were for Dean, seeing as he would need something to eat in Castiel’s absence. Perhaps it would even last a day.

Castiel brought the stack of pizza boxes inside, pushing the door closed and setting them on a free stretch of counter. He was in the process of looking for plates when he heard, “You got pizza?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

The Angel didn’t answer, taking down two plates. He set them on the boxes, but as he turned to carry them into the bedroom he stopped and rolled his eyes. “What part of remain in bed escaped your understanding?”

Dean, who’d gotten himself to the doorway, gave a shaky smile. “Never was good at following instructions. Look, I’m good, see?”

The raised eyebrow this earned him was apparently ignored as Dean made his way to the table. Castiel drifted over to it, head tilted to one side. Once the Demon had pulled out one of the dusty chairs at a rather rickety-looking table, Castiel placed his load on its surface and reached over to poke him at the center of his chest.

Considering he’d barely touched the Demon, Dean promptly collapsed into the chair with a wheezed curse. Glowering up at him, eyes flicking to solid black, he bit out, “Don’t do that. No poking, no booping.”

Castiel chose to ignore him, in spite of the black eyes pricking instincts honed after centuries of battle experience. It was harder to ignore them than the Demon, though he tried not to show it. He slid the boxes out of Dean’s reach, saying, “I was checking your condition. If you can’t handle a poke you really shouldn’t be up and about more than you have to be. I’d appreciate some common courtesy if I’m to continue feeding you, especially at this quantity.”

He could practically hear Dean’s teeth grinding. “The fuck do you want, a damn please?”

“I hardly expect that much. I’ll settle for you not glaring at me with those.”

“What, do they make you uncomfortable?”

“Hardly,” the Angel scoffed, sitting across from him. “But unless you want to be stabbed the first time you trigger battle reflexes, you might want to avoid having them out.”

“The wings and horns won’t set you off?”

“Not as much, no.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure.”

Regardless of how he felt about it, Dean’s eyes did return to their human-like state. Castiel pushed a plate his way, then the stack of pizza boxes once he’d removed his, setting it aside. As the Demon dug in with gusto akin to a half-starved mongrel, Castiel made a mental note to acquire new clothes now that he wouldn’t be bleeding all over them. It wasn’t that he minded nudity, in fact even by Angel standards he was unusually unbothered by it. But it seemed Dean was inclined to annoy, and he had a feeling that would just be one more tool for his arsenal.

Castiel had eaten most of his pizza, and was munching on one of the few remaining slices when he asked idly, “What size are you?”

Dean paused mid-bite, eyeing him over the first slice he’d pull from what had been identified as a ‘meat lovers’ pizza. Castiel knew he’d made a mistake when a slow, lecherous grin spread across his face. “Come right out with it, don’t cha?”

Yep, definitely a mistake. Scowling, the Angel informed him, “Clothing size. Unless you’re one of those who prefer to go nude.”

He wasn’t sure what to think when Dean actually seemed to think about this. Then he sighed, glancing down at himself. “I guess it’d be warmer. Fine. I thought Angels didn’t care.”

“We don’t. I rank it among common courtesies, which I do value. Particularly now that you shouldn’t get blood on them.”

“You know, I was starting to believe you weren’t one of those flying monkeys with a stick up their ass.”

“I believe avis homo sapiens would be more accurate.”

Dean gave him an odd look, chewing on his pizza with excessive meats. Honestly Castiel had chosen it for the additional protein, but he’d been particularly enthusiastic about that one. He was absently nibbling on a crust, mentally rearranging practice drills for his squadron, when the Demon asked, “Are you always this literal?”

“Mmm? I honestly don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Got anything to drink?”

“I procured more whisky, but perhaps you would benefit from liquid H2O.”

He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. It had been a while since he’d had them preform flying maneuvers, or mid-air sparring for that matter. They were overdue, then. He’d have to remedy that, he couldn’t have them losing their edge just because they were at an easy posting.

“Well?”

Castiel looked up at the sharp demand, absently munching on his last slice of olive and extra cheese pizza. “’Well’ what?”

“You don’t want me to move around, remember? I’m thirsty. How can you eat a whole damn pizza without drinking?”

The Angel glanced down at his empty box, then blinked owlishly at Dean. “I just…did. If you’d wanted a beverage you could have just asked.”

“I did!”

“I don’t believe you did, otherwise I would have gotten it.”

Dean looked downright frustrated, which Castiel found baffling. What had set him off so quickly? One hand, the one not covered in pizza grease, raked down his face in an agitated gesture. Then he bit out, “Get me something to drink… _please.”_

Even though each word was bitten out, and the polite addition was added on like a curse, Castiel had to admit he appreciated the obvious attempt. And he did want Dean to minimize his movement until he was better healed. So he stood, going over to the counter where he’d left the batch of water bottles. “Very well. But water, not whisky.”

“Who the hell drinks water?”

“You will be. Your body could use it.”

“I _need_ liquor here. Bad enough those mooks got the good stuff for fucking me over, now you ain’t letting me drink.”

“On the contrary, I’m encouraging you to drink,” Castiel corrected. He set two bottles by the Demon, and kept a third for himself as he resumed his seat. He paused, then asked, “What do you mean by ‘the good stuff’?”

Dean scowled, but ripped the cap off a bottle and chugged half of it in one swing. When he came up for air he ground out, “Part of the payment for doing what they did was some really old bottles of scotch and brandy. High quality stuff. Started drinking it before they were done.”

Castiel remembered the bottles he’d seen in the bunker. For some reason this seemed to sting as much as the physical wounds they’d inflicted. It seemed this Demon had a penchant for alcohol. “Drink the water, then I’ll give you one of the whisky bottles.”

“Fine,” Dean grumbled around another mouthful. “You always this much of a mother hen?”

After a moment’s consideration, Castiel decided, “You would have to ask those under my command. I think they would be more knowledgeable in that regard. Or perhaps Gabriel.”

At least this didn’t seem to anger Dean all over again. Instead he just shook his head, grumbling, “You sound like a robot.”

Castiel ignored him, returning to the task of assembling new exercises for his squadron. He took part himself, of course. You had to set an example, plus he didn’t want to let himself slide either.

**~~~BREAK/BREAK\BREAK~~~**

At least there was still food there when Castiel checked on his patient the next day. Granted all the pizza was gone, along with all the bacon and waffles you put in a toaster, but the majority of everything else was left. He seemed to be slowing down, which was a relief. It would have grown tiresome, having to stock up every other day. Not to mention the cashiers on the graveyard shifts had already begun giving him odd looks, especially the one who sold him alcohol.

“You do realize you need to do dishes once you’ve used them, correct?”

“What are you, a nanny?” Dean had left the bed, but was now sprawled out over the couch. One wing was draped over its back, the other half on the floor, long legs splayed over the cushions, worn boots dangling over the arm. “Ya know, one of the nagging ones, not one of the fun ones?”

Castiel frowned at that. “There’s a difference?”

“Totally. There’s the nuns who sing, then the ones who fly around with umbrellas and have bottomless carpet bags.”

After taking a moment to confirm he had no memory of such things, the Angel stated, “I have not heard of them. Are they current or past nannies?”

That earned him a decidedly over-dramatic eye roll, and a grumbled, “Why ain’t I surprised?”

Ignoring him, Castiel decided to keep his hands busy. He’d made himself do three circuits of his route, and planned to make more before his patrol was over, but he was still sore from his exercises. Perhaps he’d pushed too much, but at least it had had the desired effect. What’s more, the majority of his squadron was worse off than he was. Accordingly, he would be encouraging more strenuous drills to make up for the lack of action.

His wings folded stiffly against his back, arms a bit sore as he rolled up his sleeves and started washing the small mountain of dishes. He was in the process of drying plates when Dean called, “What’s in the bag?”

“Clothing.”

“Clothes? Oh, yeah. Cool. Just tell me you didn’t get me rat race rags.”

Castiel paused, frowning. “Rat race rags?” He glanced over his shoulder to see Dean shuffling stiffly over to the plastic bag he’d left by the door.

“You Angels are always wearing suits and slacks and shit. Seriously, what’s the point? They ain’t even comfortable.”

He glanced down at himself as he went back to work. “These are very comfortable. I’ve had no issue with them.” He’d also acquired a new trench coat for himself while he’d been at it.

In truth he’d chosen what he had because they’d been among the cheapest options that wouldn’t disintegrate after a single battle. This had consisted of jeans, a t-shirt, a flannel shirt, a canvas jacket, and the only pair of boots that were Dean’s size. They were a little worn, seeing as it had been a thrift shop, but they were sturdy-looking work boots. In a small bout of spite, he had deliberately chosen the clothes with the smallest price tags. He’d considered getting two pairs of jeans, but denim was sturdy.

“What, no underwear?”

“Under the jacket. There should be a belt and socks in there too.”

“Why a belt?”

“They didn’t have your exact size of pants, and if you do something else stupid it will serve as a suitable tourniquet.”

“Nice to know you have such a high opinion of me. You do realize Demons don’t make it this long without being something of a badass, right?”

“I assumed, but the only reason you’re still drawing breath at current is due to luck.”

“Luck?” Dean repeated, sounding irked.

“Yes. Luck. Mistakes are normal, but for those like us mistakes can be fatal. There must be some luck involved.”

“Oh yeah, you guys cheat on that. ‘Bringers of fate’ and all that shit.”

“It’s hardly cheating.”

“Yeah? Humans think it makes you special. We can do it too.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“We do! But humans only know about your mojo.”

Castiel turned away from the sink, drying his hands. “What does it matter? Most humans don’t actually believe in our existence. Those who do are regarded as foolish. Besides, when it does matter there’s little point to such abilities. They cancel each other out.” In an afterthought, he added, “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t try to use them now. You’re not that far along yet.”

“Stop saying it like I’m pregnant,” Dean protested, sounding exasperated.

“Why would you be pregnant? You’re a male with all the traditional, intact anatomy, aren’t you?”

The Demon, who’d been unwrapping the bundled packages of boxers and socks, let his face fall into his hands with a groan of despair. “You’re not kidding. You wanna know why Gabriel gets Chuckles? He knows how to laugh. He doesn’t take everything so literally. How the hell have you lasted this long with such a big stick up your ass?”

“I think I would have noticed that.”

“See? This is exactly what I mean!” Dean threw up his hands, then bent to wrestle off his boots. “Seriously, dude. I thought Angles had leave time or something, could walk around, smell the flowers. What’s the point of putting in your bit if you can’t let your hair down every once in a while?”

Now this Castiel took offense to. He bristled, rolling down his sleeves. “I’ve hardly had the time of late, seeing as I’ve been attempting to save a bad-tempered, ungracious Demon. When I have time I _do_ smell the flowers. I like flowers, very much, and the bees.”

Dean had stopped in the middle of working off his second boot, staring at him. “Bees?” he repeated, deadpan. “You like bees. Why? No one likes bees.”

“I will have you know that bees are liked. There’s more human paraphernalia out there than most seem to be aware of, especially lately.” And if he just happened to collect all he could find in his store houses, Dean didn’t need to know.

“Dude. They’re bees. They sting.”

“As a last resort. When they sting something, they die. They only do it when there’s a threat to the hive or their honey. Which they make, as no other species on the known worlds can. Not even the Fay have bees. It’s all there, the whole plan, there’s nothing to add.”

Dean held up his hands, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’ve got a bee fetish.”

“It’s not a fetish. I gain no sexual gratification from bees.”

“Too literal.”

After a moment’s consideration, Castiel clarified, “By ‘fetish’ you mean I am extremely fond of them?”

“Bingo.”

Castiel turned away, going outside to check the wards as Dean made to shuck his jeans. Personally, he didn’t care if a person went nude or not, himself included, but he knew others preferred privacy in that regard. Frankly he wouldn’t bother at all, but it was a standard he was expected to adhere to, and they were practical. Shielding against the elements, temperatures even an Angel could feel, not to mention actual armor.

Once outside, he had to admit he was impressed with what Gabriel had done to his wards. A few extra marks had boosted them, allowing them to hold more power, which was then poured into them. He’d even reinforced the Devil’s Trap, one Castiel sensed even Lucifer himself would have a problem with. As an added bonus, if he hadn’t known where to come he never would have found this place. The shielding that camouflaged it made the entire property blend in seamlessly until he was setting foot on the porch. But then he’d expected nothing less of an Archangel.

Castiel took his sweet time, circling the cabin at a decidedly meandering pace, before going back inside. Dean was fully dressed by then, jeans belted into place, but for some reason he’d felt the need to wear all three of the torso coverings at the same time. Was he cold? Castiel saw no other reason why the Demon had felt the need to layer a t-shirt, then a flannel shirt, then a jacket. Or he’d just wanted to get them fitted with wing slits right now and didn’t feel up to taking them off again. Those could be tricky, for all it became second nature after the first few decades.

“Do I wanna know what you were doing out there?”

“Gabriel did well with the wards.”

“I thought you already warded this place.”

“I did. He reinforced them. Unless someone already knows this place is here, they won’t find it.”

“So we’re safe?”

“For now.”

“A real optimist, ain’t ya?”

“I’m a realist.”

“Uh-huh. If you say so. Seriously, I don’t care if all I get is Spanish soap operas, think you can find me a TV?”

“Actually, since we’re in Canada you’re more likely to get French soap operas, or English.”

“You’re missing the point. I’m going to start gouging out my own eyes.”

“Please don’t. Those are more complex than a liver, they would be more difficult to rejuvenate.”

“I’m bored!”

“I think you’ve mentioned that before.”

“Bored ain’t good. Don’t try to tell me Angels don’t get bored. You’re not _that_ stiff.”

“We have coping mechanisms. Don’t you?”

“Not for this.”

The Angel grimaced. He had intended to ignore this request, but this was the fourth time within the space of two visits Dean had asked. It was becoming annoying. “If I procure a television set, will you cease your nagging?”

“Gladly.” The smug look lasted less than a second, then it went right back to annoyed. “You say it like I’m some old wife. ‘Nagging’.”

“You have been nagging,” Castiel informed him. “I assumed that was your tactic of choice, to irritate me into compliance.”

“Well, yeah, and it worked, but I don’t like your word choice.”

“I’m not over fond of your frequent use of profanity.”

“Why do you talk like some crotchety old guy who tells kids to get off his lawn?”

“I have never told a child to get off a lawn. I’ve never even had a lawn.”

Dean stared at him for a long minute, face blank. Then he said slowly, “You know something? I’ve been around the block a few times, I’ve dealt with a fuck-ton of annoying shits, I’ve ganked a lot of ‘em, I’ve even had to serve with some of ‘em. But this is the first time that I can remember dealing with someone who makes me want to find a nice tree to bang my head against. Repeatedly. Nice and slow.”

“If you want me to fetch an entertainment device, and get food despite the fact there’s plenty of sustenance here, I would appreciate it if you would stop insulting me.”

“What? Never mind.”

Castiel turned, going back to the door. He was reaching to open it when he heard two grumped syllables. The Angel paused briefly, but then decided it would be best for their working relations that he act as though he hadn’t heard. Still, he appreciated the gesture. Not to mention the simple fact Castiel had never heard a Demon say “thank you” before.

TV’s had come a long way since their early years. Castiel was simultaneously dismayed and impressed. The entire process took far longer than it should have. Not only did he have to find a screen, there were boxes and devices that went with it. This ‘streaming’ business was apparently the latest thing. Still, at least it was more compact than the VHS tapes he remembered.

When he lugged the oversized boxes inside the cabin, Dean was shuffling stiffly out of the bathroom. He visibly perked up, even in his wings, when he saw what Castiel was dumping in the main living area. Castiel’s own wings ruffled at his back as he stepped away with a huff.

“There. If you want them set up, you will need to do it yourself. There’s a tower near enough the booster should provide an adequate signal.”

“Where’re you going now?” Dean asked as he turned back towards the door.

“Food. Burgers.” They were his favorite. He’d earned them today, damn it. Ungrateful underlings, strenuous training, irritating Demon charge, then the unnecessarily complex business of getting all this nonsense that would go to waste just as soon as Dean was healed.

“Bacon cheeseburgers?”

“Fine.” He slammed the door behind himself as he left. It wasn’t quite so late most things were closed, and he was able to be choosy in where he got his fix. He sampled five different places before returning to the fourth establishment, getting six regular burgers and six bacon cheeseburgers. On a whim he even got fries.

When he tramped back through the door for what he hoped to be the last time this visit, Castiel found Dean poking at the two remotes. The television set appeared to be set up and operational, along with the box that would get the shows that would hopefully keep Dean occupied. The Demon looked up as the snowing screen started showing pictures, which Castiel took to be a good thing.

“That took a while.”

“Are you hungry, or not?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Castiel grabbed a bottle of whisky, helping himself before pushing the bottle towards the Demon. He shoved the bag of bacon cheeseburgers along with it, then dug into his own bag. He then proceeded to try blocking out his surroundings as he bit into the greasy delicacy that was a hamburger. Humans had made many things over the years, good and bad alike. This Castiel counted among their best, right up there with PB&J’s, and domesticating cats.

He had downed half his glass of burning alcohol, and was unwrapping his second burger, when Dean asked, “Are you okay?”

“I am perfectly fine.”

“You sure? Or do you just really like burgers?”

“I really like burgers.” They made him…very happy.

“I think you like the plain ones as much as I like the bacon cheeseburgers,” Dean snickered.

“They’re hardly plain. There’s lettuce, and tomato, and pickles- “

“Yeah, but no cheese or bacon. That’s what really makes it.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion.”

Dean eyed him. “Even if you think it’s wrong, right?”

“Yes.”

“You guys have that down to an art, don’t you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You say things that sound real nice, real polite, but they’re not. Why not say what you mean? Why do you gotta be polite about it?”

“I don’t know. If it’s any consolation, many of my cohorts prefer to be more…blunt.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

The Angel paused mid-chew. “How?”

“What, like you don’t have informants on your end?”

“You have Angels on your payroll?”

“Well, probably not anymore. I think half of Hell sided with Alistair in the whole “let’s gank Dean” agenda.”

Castiel resumed chewing. Waste not want not and all that. Dean was right, it was simply part of how things worked. Not widely enjoyed, but widely employed. Castiel himself had gotten propositions in the past, for all he’d promptly smote those that did the offering. He himself had a handful of informants in Hell, and he had to be careful among the angelic ranks because he knew there had to be informants among them, too. They found them on occasion, but not often enough for Castiel’s taste. That wasn’t counting rouge Reapers, who proved to be the biggest issue. Even the Cupids had a few bad eggs, even if their majority was perfectly harmless.

“Just how many informants do you have?”

Dean snorted, unwrapping his third bacon cheeseburger. “Why would I tell you?”

He pondered that for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. While he did have a life debt in place, assuming Dean was inclined to honor it, he didn’t want to play that card just yet. A life debt from a Knight of Hell was a serious ace. So he’d have to find something else to trade for that answer.

“Well, for one thing I doubt they will all be in your employ when you return to full strength.”

“Yeah, but you guys smite traitors. If I’m gonna give up their names, it’s gotta be good.”

“How about a number to start?”

“Eight.”

“Eight?”

“How do you think I knew what happened to Sam? Or that he was even still alive?”

“Fair enough.” He finished his second burger and started on his third as he pondered this. Dean was reaching for his fourth already, but then the Angel preferred savoring to scarfing.

He was still trying to decide what might make giving up an informant worth it when Dean asked, “What about names of Angels I know inform to other Demons?”

“Why would you do that?”

“It’s to my benefit to cut off their sources of intel. I wasn’t kidding, half of Hell sided with Alistair. All the traditionalists didn’t like newbies coming in and stealing their boss’s thunder. When I get back I’m gonna have to clean house. It’ll help if I can start cutting them off now.”

Well, it made sense. He’d heard Hell had become somewhat divided since Lucifer had been letting new Demons take power. Considering it was hard earned he had thought it understandable, even though it meant he had new problems to deal with.

“What’re you gonna do when I give you the names?”

“I suppose it depends on who the names belong to, and who they inform to. It can be a delicate process.”

“Fair enough. If you ain’t delicate enough, they’ll know it’s me ratting them out.”

Castiel scoffed. “I’m hardly a fool. When I heal a person, I generally try to ensure they last more than a day when I’m done.”

“So you keep saying. Say, be honest with me, you ever seen human movies? Like, from this century?”

“I don’t think so. How is that of import?”

“We need to fix that.”

Castiel suddenly had the impression that it was going to be a very long month.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the next week, things fell into a routine. Castiel’s guess had been right, there were no complaints when he put in for that patrol route for the foreseeable future. He would still make his rounds, he couldn’t neglect them, but they came intermittently during time he spent at the cabin. When he was at their base he played normal, which was far easier than he felt it should be. Writing reports, training, sleeping. Though he found himself having a harder time getting his rations down, particularly since he’d been eating food at the cabin. He left the groceries he brought to Dean, but he partook whenever he fetched the rapidly prepared, premade meals humans seemed so fond of these days.

The Angel had decided he would never admit to it, but some of the things Dean insisted he watch were…entertaining. And when the Demon was entertained, he was nearly tolerable. Every day he took another crack at his wounds, but besides encouraging them through about an extra day’s worth of healing there was little he could do. At best he was shortening the time Dean would need to be on bedrest, which was just as well. Even with a proper distraction he was still prone to annoy.

Castiel had put his squadron through their paces ten days after stumbling onto the Knight of Hell, and was preparing to go on patrol when Uriel approached him. He tried to ignore the other Angel, checking his blade. Partly because he usually did, partly because Dean had started giving him names. Some Angels were consistent, apparently, while others operated more on a one-off basis. Uriel had been among the latter, not that Castiel had mentioned he was in his current squadron.

“Castiel, might I have a word?”

“Of course. Do you have a concern?” He turned, still gripping his blade. Even dropping a few hints to the current king of the crossroads would warrant serious repercussions. He’d known Uriel hadn’t much liked Anna, but he wouldn’t have thought he disliked her enough to give up the location of a covert operation. Not only had they failed to rescue the souls they’d been targeting, they’d lost good soldiers in that ambush.

“Not exactly. I’m just curious as to why you’re not rotating patrols anymore.”

Well, at least he didn’t have to offer a complete lie for this, a concern he’d anticipated. “It has been some time since I’ve enjoyed peace and quiet. What disturbances I’ve encountered are minor, easily handled. I’m indulging while I’m able.”

Uriel chuckled, a knowing smile on his face. “Enjoying the perks of rank, brother?”

“I don’t indulge often.”

“This is the first I’ve seen you do so,” Uriel admitted. “Frankly I wish I’d see you do so more. It’s unnatural.”

Thinking about all the burgers he’d eaten this last week, Castiel assured him, “I’ve decided to dabble, seeing as this posting requires less effort to maintain. It wouldn’t be safe to elsewhere.”

“You always were by-the-book. Cautious.”

“It’s served me well.” Turning to leave the armory, he asked, “You’re on northern patrol, correct?”

“Yes. Perhaps you should join me.”

Something about the way he said it made Castiel pause. “What would be the reason for this?”

“There have been rumors among my informants. Word is a Knight of Hell was the target of an assassination. One that failed.”

Castiel’s brows shot up, turning to face him. “That’s a bold move. Knights of Hell are hardly the standard demonic soldier. They’re not to be taken lightly.”

“Which is why it failed,” Uriel agreed. “But if they even survived, they’re likely very weak. His trail was picked up just outside our perimeter. Knights of Hell have many enemies, the sharks are already circling.”

“If there’s truly a threat, it should be dealt with, not ignored. Have you informed our superiors?”

“Yes, our orders are to let it be. If things are allowed to run their course, there will be one less Knight of Hell to deal with. That would be something to celebrate, don’t you think?”

Keeping his face carefully blank, Castiel nodded slowly. He’d sent all the names Dean gave him to Gabriel via Samandriel, and while there weren’t many there were two who were high up in the ranks themselves. He was glad to let an Archangel decide what to do with the information, but Uriel was his immediate problem. Particularly since he was very sure their superiors hadn’t gotten this information. The last time a high-ranking Demon was rumored to be down and injured, Angels had been dispatched to ensure their fate was confirmed.

“I will celebrate, but I won’t neglect my duties. I’d also like to see proof of this myself. Did your informants mention which Knight of Hell?” He really should have known word would get out. He was a fool to hope Dean would be able to fly under the radar until he was fully recuperated.

Uriel’s lip curled in disgust. “Remember that abomination Gabriel took to his bed?”

“Careful how you speak, brother.”

“If all goes well, soon there will only be one Winchester Knight to deal with. Good riddance. If you insist on going, go carefully. You’re the most reasonable commander I’ve had the pleasure to serve under.”

Castiel inclined his head, accepting the false praise, and strode out before he was tempted to end the traitor right then. Uriel had too many connections, he was too political, you couldn’t just stab someone like that and explain later. Tempting though it might be.

He made his normal circuit at his normal, slow speed four times just to be cautious, and to be sure no one was monitoring him. Only then did he go to the cabin. Honestly he wasn’t worried about anyone finding it. He was worried about someone tracking him, or noticing Dean. Yesterday the fool had been dozing in a pool fifty feet from the cabin’s porch, outside the Devil’s Trap, a place where water flowed in from the river. Castiel had had a moment of panic, stepping onto the porch only to find the door open, the cabin itself empty.

Immediately he threw his grace out, searching, probing. He hadn’t picked up on demonic traces, but he did notice the tiniest blip of nothing. No Demon, but nothing that should be there either. One of the tricks he’d picked up over the years to help pinpoint both Angels and Demons that were concealing themselves

Castiel had stalked down the barely-there path until he reached the circular pool, stopping near its edge to stare down with a scowl. Dean’s clothes were folded haphazardly and left atop his boots, the Demon himself floating on his back, wings half spread over the water, down to his underwear, eyes closed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Castiel bit out, furious for all he was uneasy. How had he gotten through the Devil’s Trap? It was forged as tightly as was possible, it should contain even a Knight of Hell. Dean was still recovering, he shouldn’t have been able to break out.

One green eye cracked open, regarded him, then closed. “Hey, Cas.”

Were he one of those loony cartoons this fool favored, steam would be blowing from his ears. “Do not ‘hey’ me. What possessed you to leave the wards? You’re not safe out here. You’re too weak to defend yourself properly right now. You’re no good to me dead, and if you’re found you will be dead, make no mistake.”

As he ranted Dean heaved a sigh, rightening himself and opening his eyes, rotating to regard the Angel. It didn’t help Castiel’s temper that he was blinking up at him like a sleepy cow. Completely unfazed, unbothered. It was infuriating.

“Well?” he demanded, rage still simmering.

“I did it ‘cause I wanted to see if I could. And I was bored. If it makes ya feel any better I burned out what little I had doing it. Come on, Cas, I needed the fresh air.”

Gritting his teeth, Castiel raised a finger and pointed back up the path. “Get back to the cabin. Now.”

Slogging out of the water, Dean whined, “You’re gonna seal me up again, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Be happy that’s all I’m doing.”

“Scary.” Dean gave a mock shiver, wiggling his fingers before he snatched up his jeans.

“Are you always this stupid?” Castiel demanded, the blatant lack of remorse not helping his rage.

“I wasn’t stupid about it. I was bored. Jeez, relax, would you.”

“Do _not_ tell me to relax.”

“There’s going to be no living with you today, is there?”

The Angel had been fuming for most of that visit, yes. Particularly when he found how Dean had gotten out. It was the weak point to Devil’s Traps, he’d known that, but Dean had no reason to leave. It was a fool’s errand, yet he’d done it anyway. The fact that all he’d had to do was direct his specks of power into shifting the topmost layer of ground enough to make a crack in order to escape just enraged him all over again.

It took hours for his temper to settle back down again. Until that happened, Dean had been pouting. Like an infant. It wouldn’t have taken so long for Castiel to settle, but one look at the sulking Demon and it would spike all over again.

At least today Dean was inside the warded walls when he arrived, feet on the coffee table, hands laced behind his head, watching the TV.

“Roberto’s dead.”

Castiel paused, hands in his trench coat pockets. He’d thought soap operas were to be avoided, but it seemed Dean had started watching them as a substitute to alcohol for inducing sleep. Somehow that had evolved into him being oddly invested, something Castiel had shamefully gotten caught up in. Particularly since this particular show was in Spanish with French subtitles. He still wasn’t sure if Dean spoke either one, but he did.

“How?”

_“Suicidio.”_

“I never liked him much,” Castiel admitted. “You will need to refrain from breaking out for the foreseeable future, and my visits will need to be reduced.”

That got Dean’s attention. He sat up, frowning. “What’re you talking about?”

He relayed what Uriel had told him, and a scowl split the Demon’s face.

“Figures. Alistair probably had a goon lined up to check in, make sure they held up their end. Paranoid fucker.”

“Paranoia is often a good way to stay alive,” Castiel pointed out.

“Not if you’re me.”

“At least before the Men of Letters seemed to be unaware. I was under the impression they were doing this job freelance.”

“They were. If one of Alistair’s pets found out they let me get away, he probably ganked the failures. And witnesses. It’s how it’s done.”

“Wonderful. Now the Men of Letters will be interested. You have a gift, I think.”

“For what?”

“Angering an impressive variety of people.”

“Hey, I pissed the Men of Letters off all on my own.”

“You say that as though it’s something to be proud of.”

“They don’t bother targeting or tracking just anyone, you know. I’ll bet you have a file, what with you being a Seraph and all.”

“Perhaps, but their information is all second-hand. I’ve managed to avoid direct contact until now. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

“I dunno, they have some fun toys. I stole my first grenade launcher from them,” the Demon reminisced, smiling fondly.

“And how many times have they summoned you?”

The smile faded to a sour expression. “Once. You wouldn’t believe how many protocols I had to bust through to destroy that intel. Only reason those mooks had it was because Alistair gave it to ‘em. Had to blast it on the way out.”

“Mmm. And now you can’t get fresh air.” He’d seemed to particularly enjoy that, even if he’d incurred angelic rage. Not that Castiel blamed him once he’d finally calmed down. He enjoyed fresh air too.

“Don’t remind me,” Dean grumbled. “Who did you say gave you this info again?”

“I didn’t.”

Sharp eyes studied him for a moment. Then he stated bluntly, “It’s one of the birdies I gave you, ain’t it.”

“That’s no concern of yours.”

“Actually, it kinda is. I’m the one those mooks are after.”

“Yes, and thanks to these wards, so long as you stay within this structure not even Lucifer will be able to find you.”

Dean took his feet off the coffee table, bracing his hands on his knees. “It’s someone you’re stationed with. Tell me you ganked ‘em.”

“Even if I was, it’s hardly so simple. Perhaps for you, but not us.”

A disgusted sneer contorted the Demon’s face. “Right. ‘Cause you Angels are so much better than we are.”

“We weren’t the ones who were damned.”

“You wanna know why I was damned? Why Sam was damned?” Dean growled, standing stiffly.

Castiel blinked. Few people remembered their human lives, and the longer you spent as an Angel or Demon the less they retained. Demons in particular didn’t often remember. Time in Hell did that to you. “You remember what you were before?”

“Yeah. I do. Do you?”

The Angel hesitated, frowning. “I…no one’s asked me that before.”

“Answer the damn question.”

Castiel stared down at his hands, brow furrowing. “I was…it was a long time ago.”

“You’re telling me,” the Demon growled, standing stiffly. “And you know what I remember? Busting my ass for scraps. Getting stabbed in the back at every turn. Having to deal with mooks who thought they were better than everyone else just ‘cause they got born higher up the fucking food chain. So yeah, when I had a chance to turn the tables, I took it. Sam too. Survival, and making sure no boot can stay on your neck.”

“You think the rest of us had it any better?”

“Not my fault you were too much of a wuss to do anything about it.”

“Wuss?” Castiel repeated, bristling. “I was devout, I upheld a standard of moral fiber. I advanced in rank and power due to skill and training.”

“You really want me to believe you’ve always been a good little soldier?” Dean demanded. He was a bit steadier, but he couldn’t stay upright for very long. But still, he looked steady enough as he stood toe to toe with the Angel, glaring. “Please. You’re buddy-buddy with Gabriel. Even I know he’s a trickster. He uses rules like a jump rope. You know Sam, when every other Angel wants him dead. Pull the other leg, it’s loaded.”

“What motivation would I have to lie?” Castiel fired back, agitated.

“Every goody-two-shoes lies! No one’s that good, believe me. I’ve never met someone, Angel or not, that’s actually _that_ good.”

“I’ve been told I’m not very good at lying. I have faults, I will concede to that, but I’m a good soldier. I always have been. I have no intention of changing that.”

“You’re harboring a Demon you should have ganked when you had the chance.”

“Do you wish I had?”

“I dunno, you gonna get that stick out of your ass?”

“For the last time, there is no tree branch lodged in my posterior!” Castiel erupted. “Stop insinuating it. Just because I’m not to your preconceived standard of my kind does not warrant your thankless behavior. You ungrateful, sour-tongued, discontent spawn of Hell.”

Castiel’s temper only grew hotter as Dean blinked, the Demon’s own anger apparently halted. “Did you just call me sour-tongued?”

“Yes, because it’s an appropriate description.”

“Come on, Cas, you can do better than that.”

It was the Angel’s term to blink. “What did you just call me?” Now that he thought about it, Dean had called him that before, but he’d been to upset over the Devil’s Trap at the time to notice.

“Cas. Castiel’s a mouthful.”

“It is my name. I’d appreciate it if you would bother to finish it.”

“Nah. I like it. Now about your insults, they need work. Seriously, you’re too old to be this way.”

“What way? Never mind. Do not call me ‘Cas’.”

“Gabriel calls you Cassie.”

“He’s an Archangel.”

“I’m a Knight of Hell.”

“That’s hardly a point in your favor.”

“You mean to tell me someone’s actually screamed ‘Castiel’?”

“Why would someone scream my name? It’s hardly a battle cry.”

Dean stared at him for a minute, then said, “You’re serious.”

“I’m always serious.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Even Angels aren’t _that_ prudish.”

“What does excessive concern with propriety have to do with this?”

A smirk Castiel had come to dread was starting to spread across Dean’s face again. “You mean to tell me you’ve never done a little cloud seeding?”

“I don’t understand.”

“DTF? Beast with two backs? Bang? Bone? Afternoon delight? Doing the nasty? Nothing? Not even a quickie?”

“If you are referring to love making, it’s none of your business when or if I choose to do such things.”

The term he used made Dean roll his eyes. “So you’re traditional, got it. But I refuse to believe that you’ve made it this long without getting a fix.”

“Why do you care?” Castiel demanded, exasperated. “It’s of no consequence to you.”

“It’s unnatural.”

“Choosing to be selective in lovers is hardly unnatural. Just because we need not worry about illnesses- “

“It’s not even about that,” the Demon interjected. Quite enthusiastically, considering not having to worry about STD’s was something Castiel regarded as a boon to their existence.

“Then what?”

As if he hadn’t heard him Dean mused, “Or is that how you died? ‘Cause I can see being skittish if that’s what did you in.”

“I did not die via a sexually transmitted disease,” Castiel bit out. “Though it would not surprise me if you did, if this is your attitude.”

“Hellhound,” Dean corrected, deadpan.

“You made a deal? How did you make a demon deal then become a Knight of Hell?”

“It’s complicated. Please tell me you weren’t like this when you were human.”

“Were you?”

“I was a little more picky then,” Dean admitted. “Especially since they weren’t too fond of my kind back then.”

“Your kind?” Castiel repeated, frowning.

“Men, women, I’m all for equal opportunity.”

“You’re bisexual.”

“You’re not straight, are you? I know for a fact not all Angels are _that_ standard.”

“I’ve come to realize that my leanings are what modern humans would call demisexual,” Castiel admitted. “Is that explanation satisfactory?”

That actually seemed to give the Demon pause. He considered this, then for whatever gods forsaken reason decided to go with, “You weren’t a eunuch, were you? What about a monk?”

Later, Castiel would gladly blame his temper on his reaction. He could count on one hand the number of Angels who were aware of his human life, that he’d told things he considered personal details. Yet here he was, erupting like a volcano of words. “I was _not_ a eunuch, I was _not_ a monk. I was a carpenter, it was and still is an honorable profession. I had a wife, I had children, it’s very likely there’s descendants of mine running about.”

“Arranged, or did you actually get to choose?”

“It was arranged, but we were cordial. We enjoyed each other’s company, we agreed on many things, the process of producing children was pleasant. It was more than most enjoyed.” He’d checked in on her when he’d become an Angel. They hadn’t been soul mates, so they’d had separate heavens, but he’d been happy to find she had found hers. She’d looked happy, with the other woman. He’d guessed, of course, but while things had been more accepting in Egypt, it was a newly Roman province when they’d been alive. Things had been a bit more delicate, and in truth he didn’t think _she’d_ known. He’d had some vague idea of himself, but in truth it had simply been a matter of him having no chance to really ponder such things.

“’Pleasant’, just _pleasant?”_ Dean was demanding incredulously.

“I didn’t think of her in that fashion, and she was a lesbian. All things considered we had a highly functional arrangement.”

Right then, he hated the Demon’s expression. It could only be called pity. Castiel hated pity.

Very much regretting opening his mouth, the Angel turned away, only to freeze when Dean caught his arm.

“Hey, wait a second.”

“Release me. Now.”

“Hey, I feel you. Did you see what they did to people like me in the medieval inquisition?”

“Regrettably. Remove your hand or I will relieve you of it, and you can attempt to grow it back on your own.”

Rather than let him go, Castiel found himself pulled back around. He had every intention of following through on his warning, his blade even dropped into his palm, but before he could begin to raise his weapon the Demon had fisted both hands in his lapels and yanked him forward a step. He stumbled, foot bracing once it touched down, only for his entire body to go ridged, freezing from head to toe.

Dean was kissing him. Dean was _kissing_ him. _Dean_ was kissing _him._ For some reason this Demon had decided it was a good idea to press their mouths together.

It was a true testament to how shocked he was, that he didn’t run Dean through right then. He really should have, if his brain was cooperating. No being had ever been so bold. Even so…as the initial shock started to fade, Castiel had to admit it wasn’t an unenjoyable experience. Not like the kisses he could remember having before. Dean’s mouth was warm, and surprisingly soft.

Castiel was still frozen, a death grip on his weapon, when the Demon pulled away. For a long minute they stared at each other, faces mere inches apart. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise his mouth was so soft, his lips looked soft, now that he thought about it.

No, no it didn’t matter. None of it did. He was no Archangel, even if he had a notion he couldn’t indulge in such dalliances. He would follow through on his initial plan, he would heal Dean, then leave the matter to Gabriel.

Dean must have seen it coming. Eyes that suddenly seemed very green darted to the hand, still holding a weapon, raising to his face. “Don’t- “

It was all he got out before the Angel’s two fingers made contact with his forehead. Those pretty eyes rolled back and Dean went limp, collapsing to the floor in a heap. Turning stiffly, Castiel walked out the door, yanking it closed on his heels.

**~~~BREAK/BREAK\BREAK~~~**

The Angel made his way towards the pool, standing on its edge for a long minute before throwing his blade point-first into the dirt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d blanked out in such a fashion. It was dangerous, unacceptable. Worse, his mind still wasn’t operating fully yet. It was illogical, and a little infuriating. He was unaccustomed to allowing others such power over him.

Perhaps he should have punched Dean. Put him through a wall. But that would have risked compromising the wards. Stabbed him? No, in his condition he’d have to heal the damage right away.

Giving his head a sharp shake, Castiel made sure his grace was as concealed as was possible, then shrugged off his trench coat. He found a branch to drape it over, then sat to get off his boots and socks. He set those neatly side-by-side next to the tree’s base, then folded his pants and shirt atop them. He left his underwear on, just because he didn’t like the notion of being caught naked by enemies. While modern briefs were close to the loincloths that had been a constant over the centuries, these days he’d grown fond of boxer briefs. They were more comfortable.

Castiel waded into the pool, then dove under, wings pinned to his back. He swam a bit, then surfaced in an area shallow enough for him to stand. He raked his fingers back through his hair, then carefully laid on his back, wings half extended to float on the pool’s surface.

Unbidden, Dean’s face appeared beneath his closed lids. The Angel scowled at that. He’d dealt with plenty of physically attractive individuals over the years and never had such issues. There was no reason for this one to be any different. Though to be fair, it was rare to find an individual whose facial features fit perfectly into the golden ratio. The freckles were delightful, he didn’t remember seeing many with those prior to his being an Angel. If the dark blond hair paired with it nicely, despite the interfering horns, so what? His wife had been a beauty too, but physical attractiveness had never held much meaning. He enjoyed being around those who were pleasing to the eye, but he’d never had the urge to become intimate with them for that reason.

Despite himself, as he drifted in cool water in the moonlight, Castiel found himself pondering the Demon’s non-physical attributes. It was something he quickly made himself abandon. He didn’t like the path it led him down.

Eventually, when his fingers were starting to prune, he drew himself upright again. He spread his wings wide, then pulled them in a bit, ruffling his feathers and giving them a shake. He carefully combed through each individual feather with his fingers, making sure they were clean of all dust, dirt, and whatever else.

He’d preened his feathers to his satisfaction, and was ruffling them for a rinse, flapping them in the water, when an all too familiar voice said, “Ya know you look like a bird in a birdbath when you do that.”

Castiel froze, then turned slowly. Dean sat on a particularly large root, wings folded to his back, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands. How long had he been there? That was twice today he’d allowed his guard to drop too much.

What’s more, this was now twice in a week this Demon had escaped his Devil’s Trap. Only this time, for whatever reason, the notion only made Castiel sigh. Perhaps he was just drained by everything else. That and it wasn’t as much of a surprise this time.

“No, it’s kinda cute.” The Demon cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, uh…I didn’t mean to spook you.”

“You realize it was a mistake?” Castiel asked, wading towards where he’d left his clothes and weapon.

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

Castiel was aware of the eyes on him as he climbed out of the natural pool. He wasn’t sure why. He was nothing special. Nor did he understand why Dean looked decidedly disappointed as the water reached his thighs. What, had the lecherous Demon thought he’d be naked?

“You shouldn’t be out here. It’s not safe. You really need to stop breaking the Devil’s Trap.”

“You’re out here.”

“I’m concealing my grace.”

“And I’ve got the mojo of a candle right now. I’ll live.”

“Because you burn whatever you regain on escaping,” Castiel snapped, then sighed. “Please return to the cabin, Dean.” He used a light wave of heated grace to dry himself off, then bent to pick up his pants. “There’s too many people out looking for you right now.”

“You gonna come back?”

“Of course. You’re not in peak condition yet.”

“I meant today.”

Castiel did his belt, admitting, “It might be best if I didn’t. The more normal I remain, the less attention I risk drawing.”

“What if I promise not to kiss you again?”

“If you attempt that again, I will render your limbs and you will just have to explain your condition to Sam.”

And that lecherous grin was back. Damn him. Damn him again for making it oddly…endearing.

“Aw, Cas, you say the sweetest things.”

Castiel pulled on his shirt, buttoning it up, not saying a word.

“Think you can bring a weapon next time?”

The Angel paused, one arm in his trench coat. “Why would I arm you?”

“I’ve got nice arms?”

“You’re deliberately misunderstanding.”

Dean sighed. “Because it’s in my best interest not to stab you in the back? Because if something does happen I wanna be ready?”

“I will consider it,” Castiel relented grudgingly, adjusting his coat around his shoulders. “Return to the cabin.”

“Already? This is my first fresh air in days.”

“Yes. Already.”

“What about dinner?”

Castiel pulled Dean to his feet, urging him back towards the cabin. “I will bring Thai food. Is that satisfactory?”

“Like, legit Thai food or stuff from that awesome Thai place you went to before?”

“Seeing as my human currency is strictly in Canadian or American dollars at this point, it will have to be the latter.” As they started up the path, he added, “Also, if you break out again, I will fetch cement to overlay the Devil’s Trap. At the very least that should slow you down.”

“Seriously?” the Demon complained.

“I am very serious.”

This seemed to satisfy his charge. Dean stood stiffly, wings folded loosely to his back as he started making his way up the grown-in path to the cabin. Castiel made sure he was safely ensconced, even took the time to make sure he found something to watch that was long enough to keep him entertained in his absence before leaving.

He did fetch the Thai food, as promised. But he blamed habit when he got enough for two of them. After he’d eaten he would leave. He didn’t fancy the idea, but he also didn’t feel comfortable hanging around after what had happened. Something he found himself regretting, which he then scolded himself for. He should not enjoy the company of a Demon, and yet…he did. This was doubly bad considering there weren’t that many Angels whose company he genuinely enjoyed.

Castiel had every intention of leaving once he’d eaten his fill. But when he came back Dean had found a marathon of Dr. Sexy. It was a good show, he enjoyed it, for all humans seemed to ridicule you for liking a show when you weren’t the target audience. What’s more, Dean enjoyed it too. Reasoning that they would just be occupying the same space, not interacting or conversing, Castiel stayed after he’d disposed of their trash. He did leave eventually so he could fly a few more rounds before returning to his squadron, but only then. And somewhat reluctantly, which he could easily blame entirely on Dr. Sexy. The plot really was compelling.


	5. Chapter 5

After no small amount of time in consideration, Castiel took his personal, second blade with him the next time he left for patrol. As a Seraph he was allowed two, and this way he wouldn’t risk someone noticing the armory was missing one. On more dangerous postings he kept them on his person at all times, but since he’d been here he’d just had the one.

He wasn’t a fool, he didn’t plan to arm a Demon on a whim. He would keep the blade with him when he was there and leave it with Dean when he was gone. On the off chance someone did find their hideout. Unlikely, but then he preferred to be paranoid in such cases. Those under his command might complain, if quietly, but being paranoid had saved his skin on more than one occasion.

After a solid bit of rest, choking down his rations, and putting his squadron plus himself through their paces, he gladly left for his patrol. He’d sent an update on his information to Gabriel, but he knew he wouldn’t be pulled from his position, even if he wasn’t tending Dean. It would mean giving away a source, not that Castiel would want to be pulled. He preferred dealing with traitors directly, particularly if it was him they’d looked in the eye and betrayed.

Castiel took five, very slow rotations before going anywhere near the cabin, which he circled at length before coming in for a landing. He pushed through the door, only to throw a hand up in front of his face, catching a thrown blade. He caught it between his fingers, arching a brow as he studied the weapon. It was a large carving knife, from the block in the kitchen.

“Nice to know your aim is still true,” he mused, stepping further inside and closing the door at his back.

Dean, sitting at the table with a half-eaten sandwich before him, whistled. “Nice reflexes.”

“Thank you.” He flipped the knife over, catching it by the handle and returning it to the block.

Then he let his second blade fall into his hand, placing it on the kitchen table before the Demon. Dean, who’d just taken another big bite of the oversized sandwich, froze mid-chew. He stared at the blade for a long moment, then his eyes moved up to the Angel’s face.

“Never seen one that wasn’t being used to attack you before?” Castiel asked, sitting across from him and regarding the sandwich stuff still out. On a whim he took out two slices of bread, tossing some lunch meat and cheese between them. He wouldn’t be going to get dinner today.

“Is this why you’re late?”

“No. I’m late because I’m taking extra precautions.”

“More so than usual, you mean?”

“I don’t suppose you have any notion as to who will be coming around now that you’re presumed gravely wounded?”

Dean seemed to consider that, then admitted, “Dunno. I pissed off a lot of people. Why?”

“It may become necessary to pick off the hunters, if they’re persistent. Hopefully they’ll give up, think you’ve gone somewhere to lick your wounds. But it’s no guarantee.”

“Nah,” the Demon admitted grudgingly. “Some of ‘em actually have something useful between their ears.”

“Why couldn’t you have pissed off fools?” Castiel asked, heaving a sigh before taking a bite of his own sandwich.

“They’re no fun to poke.”

“You have flawed logic.”

“So I’ve been told.”

They ate in silence for a time, Castiel helping himself to a PB&J after his turkey sandwich. He was going to check on the rest of the supplies, see if he needed to retrieve more, when he saw Dean reach for his blade. Long fingers wrapped around its grip, testing the weight. As he watched, the Demon flipped it in his grip, testing it both forehand and backhand.

“Good balance. I’ve seen some Angels throw these things. Can you do that?”

“Yes. They’re not meant as throwing blades. It’s a technique that takes time.” Curious, he went to check the knife block again. He flipped out the one that Dean had thrown at him, laying the blade’s base on two fingers. It was a little hilt-heavy, but it didn’t fall.

“Had to practice with that one to get the aim right.”

“It will make a suitable backup.” He went to set it on the table. It would not harm him, not like the blade he’d given to Dean.

“I know a guy,” the Demon mused, tone thoughtful. “He got his hands on a few of these, melted them down into bullets. You guys got anything like that?”

Castiel frowned. He’d heard of such things, there were a few among their armories, but only after Demons had begun using them on the battlefield. They were tricky things, special shields had to be made. “Yes.”

“Any chance you could get me one?”

“Not easily. Why?”

“I’m good with hand-to-hand, but I’m great with those.”

“You’re a marksman?” He’d heard the rumors, even witnessed it once. Key soldiers and leaders dropping dead with melted blade bullets in their skulls. Once he’d gone into battle alongside another, more experienced commander. The other Angel had fallen where he stood at their command post, a look of surprise on his face. He’d hit the ground below their barricade even before he realized what had happened, then given the order to retreat.

“Yeah.” Evergreen eyes lifted to regard him thoughtfully as the blade was set back down on the table. “I had you in my sights once. But I took out the older mook first. By the time I switched back to you you’d dropped. Funny how things worked out.”

“Funny?” Castiel repeated, brows arched. “Is that what you’d call this?”

“Yeah. I did it because it made sense. But you’re a better strategist than Zachariah. A better leader.” When the Angel scoffed, turning away, he insisted, “It’s true. Low ranking Demons are a dime a dozen. You guys have to choose this life. It makes sense to be more cautious. But he never was. We would have won that battle if he’d kept pressing. Instead you retreated to a fallback position where you outlasted us. I got Zachariah, but we lost that battle.”

“I remember. They didn’t like to admit to the presence of those bullets. It was the first I’d heard of them.”

There was enough food left to last another few days, then he’d have to fetch more groceries. When he came back into the main room, Dean had stowed the sandwich things and was back on the couch. A sports event of some sort was on, with ice and sticks and a black thing they hit. Hockey? Was that what they called it these days?

Muting the sound, Dean stretched out his wings, flexing the bone fingers to either side as he stretched his body. Legs sticking out, arms curled behind his head, back arching off the cushions in a languid position. “Wanna check me out?”

“Are your wounds causing you pain?”

“Some. Not like they used to.”

Castiel frowned, coming over to sit by him, careful of his wing. Dean was no longer wearing his three layers, he’d shed the canvas jacket and the plaid-patterned flannel, leaving him in just the t-shirt, which rode up a bit as he stretched. The Angel reached over, splaying a hand over his wounds. For some odd reason, when he did this the pectoral muscle flexed under his fingers. Then the other, then the right one again, back and forth.

“Stop that, keep the muscles relaxed,” Castiel scolded, brow furrowing as he concentrated.

Full lips pursed into a pout, but the spasms stopped.

To the Angel’s disappointment, he could no longer coax along Dean’s natural process anymore. He did feel around, see if there was another way to go about it, but there wasn’t. Eventually he withdrew his hand, shaking his head.

“I would like to monitor things, but there’s no more I can do. Your body will have to do the rest on its own.” In hindsight, it was a minor miracle he’d been able to prod things along as much as he had.

He turned away, pausing as Dean’s right wing curled in slowly. “Do you require something else?”

The station on the television changed, switching to a commercial. “I think it’s time you saw The Princess Bride. It’ll do you good.”

“How?”

“There’s some horizons you need to expand. This is one of ‘em.”

He considered this, one eye on the Demon. Deciding there wasn’t any harm to it, he nodded. “Very well. But I’ll need to fly a patrol after that.”

This seemed to please Dean, particularly when he retained his seat. He still wasn’t sure why that wing was half curled around him, the other still lay flat, but he saw no harm in it. For all he knew this Demon was starved for contact. It did happen, he knew. It was part of why Angels took lovers even if they had no intention of mating. As he understood it Demons were no different. This Demon in particular seemed to have a voracious appetite, if how he talked was any indication. It would certainly explain the hand that was on his knee by the time Buttercup came onto screen.

After the fifth bit of commentary was received with irritation Castiel gave up, deciding that the ridiculousness of this movie must be part of its appeal. It _was_ rather comedic, he had to admit. Silly, but enjoyable.

Castiel waited until the credits began to roll to rise to his feet, shuffling his wings at his back. “I need to fly another patrol.”

“Aww, come on. Already?”

“Yes.”

He fetched the blade from the table, passing it to Dean before leaving. The Angel searched the area, lid still screwed on tight over his grace, then went back to his route before loosening it ever so slightly. He wouldn’t have it airtight for a standard routine patrol in non-hostile territory.

On a whim, the Angel made his way back to the general location of the cabin at a meandering pace, coasting and riding air currents as much as not. He even touched down a mile away, walking along the forest ground, enjoying the nightlife. It was quieter here than back at their base, or even in the cabin. Dean wasn’t always a chatterbox, which he appreciated, for all the Demon did seem to enjoy luring him into conversation. But he did seem to like having background noise. If the TV wasn’t on, the radio he’d resurrected was playing one station or another. Sometimes both.

Even so, as he got closer Castiel realized he was actually missing the constant noise. He’d come to appreciate quiet, but this noise he didn’t mind so much. It was…subdued. Just there to indicate life or divert a bored mind.

The Angel was scolding himself for such sentiment when he felt it. Castiel froze, wings twitching, getting into position to either fly or execute an evasive maneuver, whichever was needed first. His blade fell into his palm as he scanned the area, searching for the source of the grace traces he was detecting. He wasn’t sure if this was worse, having another Angel out here rather than a Demon. Those he could pick off and claim to be sweeping up strays. His own kind would be more complicated.

Gingerly, he let his own grace out a bit more, but only for a moment. If it was a friend, they would know to approach him before conclusions were drawn. If not, their reluctance would be answer enough.

“Peace, brother.”

Castiel’s hackles went up as Uriel sauntered slowly out of the trees, hands in his pockets, at ease, weapon not even to hand. This just made him even more uneasy. An Angel this far out should be on guard, at the very least. Worse, Uriel was coming from the direction of the cabin, and at Castiel’s guess they were merely a few hundred feet away.

“Uriel. Why are you here?”

“I thought I would join you. What with there being more Demons in the vicinity. Have you encountered any?”

“No. Considering your warning I find this to be a surprise.” Not entirely a lie. He really had expected to encounter more before now.

“Perhaps they’ve already found their quarry. Have you encountered the Knight’s corpse?”

“No.” Also not a lie, though it was more true than his previous statement.

“Would you mind if I accompany you?”

“I require no aid. If I do I will send for you.”

“But by then it might be too late.”

“If they’re so weak they need a Knight to be near to death in order to stand a chance, I don’t think I’m in serious danger.”

A bemused smile that didn’t reach Uriel’s eyes tugged the other Angel’s face. “That’s unusual for you.”

“Hardly. I’m enjoying the quiet. It’s been harder to come by of late.”

“Indeed.” Uriel studied him for a moment more, then offered, “Would you mind if I accompanied you for the rest of this patrol? Let me satisfy my concerns, then you can reclaim your solitude.”

Castiel did not like that. At all. But he could hardly refuse. It was a reasonable enough request, refusing would send up red flags. He would just have to deal with the fallout with Dean during his next patrol. Likely he wouldn’t be best pleased, if only because it was unusual behavior with no warning. He’d have to dodge a blade this time, not a mere kitchen knife. It would be bacon cheeseburgers to settle the fussy Demon, no doubt. But that would mean burgers, which would be well earned if he would have to spend the next twenty odd hours with Uriel. While he’d heard the Angel was meant to have a sense of humor, one of the best among the heavenly host, he’d never had the pleasure of witnessing it. Why he wasn’t sure, he was only one rank above Uriel, for all Uriel had moved faster. With politics, he’d gotten this far without developing into a Seraph. If it came to raw power and skill, Castiel was sure he would win, but then Uriel had an infuriating habit of never playing fair when he didn’t have to.

“Very well. I’ve flown everything until now. I was going to walk a ways.”

Uriel was already nodding. “If the Knight is downed, this will make him easier to find.”

“And make it harder for ambushers to hide.”

He set off in the direction he’d been going, very aware that Uriel turned right around to follow the same one. In the lead, no less. Interesting. Perhaps he wanted the glory of being the first to find their prey. If he was truly suspicious of Castiel’s actions he’d want to be in back, not that the Seraph was complaining. He liked having Uriel where he could see him. Not that this lasted long.

Castiel had intended to divert from the cabin, heading back towards his original route, but he made it perhaps fifty feet before he stopped again.

“What are you doing?”

Uriel turned to give him an innocent smile. “You were going to go outside your route, weren’t you?”

“For a time. I try to keep it irregular.”

“I passed old traces on my way to you. I think you’re close to something, you might have missed it from the air. Perhaps we should split up, cover more ground.”

“No. Even weakened I don’t trust a Knight. We stay together.”

“Very well.”

Castiel was doubly angered when he heard Westley’s “As you wish” in his ears. Fighting down a scowl, keeping his face blank, he continued in Uriel’s path, every nerve on edge. His instincts were clamoring. Something wasn’t right. He searched and searched again, but found no other traces of grace or demonic presence. Had Uriel come alone? He was prideful, certainly, but _this_ prideful? Did he think to steal the glory of a felled Knight, or that he could take Castiel in a fight singlehanded? It was illogical, but Uriel was cautious for all he was a backstabbing snake. Even those didn’t last this long without some sense.

When they were a mere twenty feet from the cabin, without the wards it would have been visible through the trees, Uriel stopped and sank to a crouch. His body and dark brown wings hid whatever it was he might be peering over in the brush. Castiel scanned the area, wings flexing uneasily. “Something wrong?”

“You should see this.”

Before Castiel could ask, Uriel was pivoting around, thrusting a palm up towards him, something silver in his hand. The Seraph barely had time to throw up his grace in a crude shield before he was struck with a blast that knocked him off his feet. He went down hard on his back, still clutching his blade, stunned.

By the time his head cleared it had dully clicked just what he’d been hit with. His clothes were singed. He knew that burned scent. Holy fire. Blasted from an odd grenade-like weapon he’d never seen before.

_Men of Letters weaponry,_ he thought, dazed, as he dragged himself upright. He should have known. Angels might dally with them, but on their own time and at their own risk. Obviously Uriel would make use of them, it certainly explained some his odder victories over the years.

Castiel was still trying to pull himself together when Uriel stepped over to him, grabbing him by his coat and hauling him up. When he dragged his head up, the other Angel was smiling. Rage started to burn away what fog remained in his brain.

“What do you think? A nice little toy. Shame it only works once. I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to use it on you.”

Rather than quip back, Castiel jerked his blade up, aiming under the other Angel’s ribs. He truly must have been slowed, because Uriel easily blocked it, even knocked the blade from his grasp. “What was that?” he croaked, voice far weaker than he liked to hear. Something hot and wet trickled from his nose.

His rage renewed when he realized Uriel had made him bleed.

“Plasma mixed with holy oil. I like the effects.”

Castiel dipped into his grace, but didn’t bother channeling it through his arms or hands. Instead he shoved it out through his wings, feeling his eyes blaze as he gave a single, powerful flap. It surprised Uriel enough that he was able to free himself, putting space between them. He managed to keep his feet, but it was a close thing.

“Where is your other blade?”

_With the Knight of Hell,_ Castiel thought wryly. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I’m ensuring the glory for this death comes directly to me. You should have stuck to your normal route.”

Castiel brushed his hand over his face, grimacing when the contusions didn’t heal. Wonderful. Deciding speed would be his best option, he poured raw grace into his veins. It wasn’t a good idea long term, but it was the equivalent of human adrenaline on steroids.

Before he could think better of it, he charged forward. He had the satisfaction of seeing surprise on Uriel’s face, right before his fist contacted with his jaw. His next motion was to make a grab for his blade. He’d startled Uriel, but the element of surprise was short.

“Enough. I intended to make it quick,” Uriel protested as they grappled for his blade.

“I will return the favor,” Castiel growled. He shifted his weight backwards, hauling Uriel off balance just enough so he could lift a foot, yanking one of his feet out from under him. They went down hard, the Seraph atop the younger Angel.

No sooner had Castiel thought he was getting the upper hand than Uriel abruptly released his wrist with the hand not gripping the blade. He had just enough time to worry about that before brass knuckles engraved with Enochian sigils slammed into his jaw. Castiel was knocked clear for the second time, his grace retreating from the blow. It stunned him long enough for Uriel to get on top of him, pinning his wings and raising his blade. Castiel managed to grab his arm at the last minute. Not soon enough to stop the blow, but soon enough to divert it. It nicked his ear, but he managed to get the blade into the dirt by his head rather than his skull.

Gritting his teeth, the Seraph jammed a knee under Uriel’s ribs, using the grip still on his wrist to lever the Angel up over his head, flipping him onto the dirt with a huff. Castiel flipped himself over onto his stomach, wrenching the brass knuckles from Uriel’s fingers. He thought he felt a bone or two crack, possibly snap, not that it gave him pause.

As soon as he got his fingers through one set of knuckles, the first thing he did was aim for Uriel’s right hand, still gripping his blade. He had to pry it from broken and bloodied fingers, but he managed to fling it well away from their fight. One weapon removed, he went to work on Uriel’s nearest wing. He only managed to break the one before the other Angel retaliated, both of them reduced to grappling for the only weapons left between them.

Later, Castiel would be unable to recount how Uriel managed to get the other set of brass knuckles into his grip. But he did, and the Seraph was made to suffer for it. In the end Castiel was reduced to working his arm under Uriel’s chin, enduring the blows aimed at his limb until he managed to wrench his head sharp enough to snap his neck. It was harder than people thought, particularly seeing as Uriel was among the more pudgy Angels.

Castiel shoved the now lifeless Angel from his lap, letting himself flop back onto the ground with a groan. He was _not_ looking forward to the report he’d have to make. At least his injuries would be testament enough to his side of the story.

The Seraph dragged himself to his feet, standing shakily before he started limping to the cabin. He’d have to summon others here. He wanted to warn Dean…and possibly tie him down. Would he get the wrong message if he bound him to the bed? Even stuffing a rag into his mouth to silence him would likely be misconstrued.

Castiel was reaching for the door handle when it was wrenched open, revealing a stunned-looking Dean holding his spare blade. He hadn’t anticipated aid, but it looked as though the Demon was prepared to leave his shelter. What’s more, even if Dean was inclined to offer aid, which he wasn’t in any shape to do, a side effect of all the wards was that it dampened sounds outside. Unless he happened to look outside a window, Dean wouldn’t have felt or heard anything.

“The fuck happened to you?”

“Uriel. He wanted the glory of your death to himself. It didn’t occur to me he would attempt to kill me when I didn’t respond to his nudges to leave this area.”

“Get in here, we need to patch you up. What’d he use?”

“Enochian brass knuckles. And some sort of weapon the Men of Letters produced. No. I need to retain my current state.”

“Why?”

“My injuries will need to be catalogued. It will help my case. Uriel was politically connected. Likely there will be those displeased with his death. I only came here to warn you. Angels will be coming here. You will be safe, but only if you stay inside.”

“You sure about that?”

He wasn’t sure which part Dean was talking about, but he still said, “Yes.”

Dean hesitated, eyeing him. “You look like hammered shit.”

“I’m aware. You should have enough groceries to last you until I return. If it will take too long I will arrange for Gabriel to come back, though he will likely only get confections and baked goods.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is. Please don’t make me tie you down. Don’t smile like that. If I tie you to the bed, you will be left for days and I won’t be relocating the TV.”

That lecherous smile didn’t waver. “You say the sweetest things, Cas.”

“That was a serious threat.”

Still smiling, Dean raised a hand. “I solemnly swear I won’t open anything until you come knocking.”

“Thank you.”

He turned away, stepping back onto the porch. “Seriously, they’ll be able to fix you, right?”

“We have healers better suited for this, yes.”

“You look worse than I did.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

The door was shut and locked as he hobbled back over to Uriel, flopping back down onto the ground with a low groan. Closing his eyes, he tapped into Angel radio, summoning a very surprised bunch of reinforcements for the first time at this posting. It didn’t occur to him until he was waiting on them to arrive that it had been very stupid of him, going to Dean in his condition. He would have been easy pickings for a Knight of Hell, even a recovering one. Yet he’d foolishly gone to him anyway, and been lucky enough Dean hadn’t taken his chance. Castiel didn’t believe he hadn’t seen it, Dean was no buffoon, despite periodic behavior to the contrary. He’d had the chance to knife the Seraph, but he hadn’t. Castiel wasn’t sure why, nor was he sure why Dean had almost seemed concerned for his condition. Demons valued sentiment even less than Angels.

Castiel cracked his eyes as other Angels touched down, armed and ready, eyes on the perimeter as they closed in around him and the dead Uriel. That was the downside of becoming an Angel, once you died here it was to the Empty. No more Heaven. You gave it up. Castiel had known that, they all had when they’d taken this option. Yet he had the feeling Uriel hadn’t thought he would be going there so soon. Unlike others who’d gone to the Empty before their time, Castiel was glad Uriel was someone else’s problem now.

He gave them a brief explanation, then urged them to bring him and the corpse back to base. Where it was safe. They didn’t question it, as much because it was true as because he was their commander. It was easy enough, and they flew him away from the hidden cabin without a second glance in its direction.


	6. Chapter 6

The fallout wasn’t immediate. Castiel spent his next duty rotation dozing in the infirmary as he was painstakingly healed. After that he wrote up the obligatory report, lying about his knowledge but not what Uriel had said and done. In that he could be completely truthful.

He missed a second duty rotation on the healer’s orders, consuming extra rations and resting. He still looked a bit battered, his body bruised, but the major wounds were closed and mostly healed. Castiel commended their work, adding Uriel’s ill-gotten weaponry to their arsenal. He logged them as such, then helped himself to the brass knuckles. They struck him as something handy to have, particularly since he was down a blade.

Castiel fully expected a court martial, but for the time being he was left to his own devices. As soon as he was able he took his patrol again, which the healer only allowed because he promised not to do anything strenuous or engage any enemies. Even then, Castiel knew quite well the only reason he was allowed to slink away from the infirmary was because it was such a quiet posting.

This time he neglected the pretense, only doing his route once before landing heavily outside the cabin. Remembering his warning, and the kitchen knife, he knocked and called, “Dean?” before opening the door. The Demon was right there when he stepped inside, demanding, “You’re back on duty already?” before he could even shut the door.

“Light duty. If we were in a more exciting post I would still be locked in the infirmary.”

Dean grunted, folding his arms, wings bristling at his back. “You still don’t look so good. Your grace looks more bruised than you do.”

“I’m aware.” He shuffled passed Dean, collapsing onto the nearest seat, which happened to be a kitchen chair. The Seraph braced his elbows on the table, rubbing his temples wearily. “Shut the door. Is there food left?”

“Uh, maybe I’d better get something.”

“No,” he droned without looking up.

The door shut. “Hang on.”

Castiel peeked long enough to see the Demon march over to the refrigeration unit. Then he folded his arms on the table, using them as a pillow, eyes closed. Perhaps he should have slept more.

“Hey, when you’re better, I’m giving you a list.”

“Of what?” the Angel mumbled.

“Ingredients.”

“For what?”

“Food that ain’t frozen.”

Castiel frowned a little, but still didn’t open his eyes. “You can cook?”

“Yeah. Just don’t go around telling everybody.”

“How did that happen?”

“I like to eat. If you want something done right, do it yourself. Besides, everyone needs a hobby. You have bees, I’ve got this.”

“I don’t keep bees. There’s nowhere in the barracks.”

“You should, if you ever retire.”

“I have no idea when that might be.”

A plate clacked on the table next to him. Castiel cracked an eye, and felt his wings prick as he saw a plate stacked with sandwiches next to him, along with a bottle of water. He dragged his head up, blinking owlishly. “You…made me sandwiches?”

“PB&J’s. You look like you could use the fuel. And I’ve had those rations they give you. Pretty sure horse shit goes down easier.”

Maybe he would have argued, but…peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Castiel hesitated for only a moment before picking up the topmost PB&J. He took a bite, chewing slowly. Mmm, he’d even gotten the ratio right.

Castiel was happily munching through his sandwiches as Dean went back to the TV, poking around on the streaming device.

“Hey, check it out, they have a bee documentary. Wanna watch?”

The Angel froze mid-chew, turning to stare across at him. “You would watch a documentary?” Until now unless it was something deemed ‘cool’, like sharks or some such a thing, Dean had adamantly refused to go near documentaries.

“I’ve watched ‘em before,” the Demon countered defensively.

“But not about bees.”

“I’ll try anything once.”

Ignoring the eyebrow wiggle that accompanied this statement, Castiel stated, “I do not desire or require your pity.”

“This ain’t pity. It’s curiosity. I mean, if you want we can watch the bondage documentary.”

“The bee documentary will do.”

“Though so.”

Dean even made him three more sandwiches after he got the documentary started. Still, Castiel wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He waited until after he’d eaten his fill, and after the two-hour long documentary had run its course to ask, “Are you attempting to…what’s the phrase? ‘Butter me up’?”

“Nah. More like sympathy. Normally I like seeing an Angel roughed up, you’re easier to kill, but that was just sad.”

Even as he said it, he got up and went to stand in the narrow path behind the couch. Castiel half turned, going rigid as hands settled on his shoulders. “What’re you doing?”

“Hold still. Relax.”

“Why?”

Rather than answer, Dean dug his fingers into the Angel’s shoulder muscles. There was more there, what with their wings. Castiel honestly hadn’t thought about how stiff they might be until Dean set them to task. He worked them with fingers and knuckles until the muscles began to loosen, then switched to pushing them out with the heels of his hands. Castiel felt himself melting under surprisingly skilled hands, lids fluttering shut as the initial pain faded.

“Thank you,” he murmured when Dean moved away. His eyes flickered open, turning to regard him as the Demon dropped onto the seat next to him. “Why did you do that?”

“Looked like you could use it. If you want I can throw in a happy ending.”

Castiel frowned slightly. “Happy ending?” he repeated. “I am quite happy with its conclusion already.” Lurching to his feet, shaking out his wings, he stated, “Thank you. For the PB&J’s, and the massage. If you have the list ready I will go get more supplies. I’m surprised you have any left.”

Dean hadn’t moved, eyes narrowed, wings bristling at his back. “That’s not what I meant.”

“About what?”

“Never mind,” the Demon huffed, folding his arms. “I’ve been making it last, thought you’d be gone longer. The list is on the table.”

The Angel wasn’t entirely sure why Dean had gone from a rough if caring manner to pouting on the couch. Writing it off as one of the Demon’s oddities, he went to pick up the list. Between the food, the rest, and having tight muscles loosened, now was the best time to go and do his supply run while he could. Even when Dean was in better condition it still would be up to him to do it. When he left the wards, it would have to be when Gabriel came to fetch him.

He got more ingredients this time. Flour, sugar, spices, vegetables, raw meat, among other things. It took multiple trips to get everything to the cabin. When he first arrived it seemed as though Dean was still sulking, for reasons unknown, but he did perk up and come to inspect the haul. He seemed satisfied, and went to work as soon as everything had been stowed to his satisfaction.

Fresh energy drained, Castiel collapsed into a chair and watched the Demon go to work. Yawning, he asked, “What are you making?”

“Burgers. I ain’t picky, but these are the best.”

Never one to turn down a burger, Castiel watched mutely. Dean certainly seemed to know what he was doing, moving with quick efficiency. The scent of cooking meat filled the cabin in short order, the very knife Dean had thrown at him previously used to chop tomatoes and lettuce with a brisk effectiveness that could put a professional chef to shame.

Castiel was starting to doze again, chin propped in one hand, when Dean set two large plates on the table. Each had three hamburgers with bacon. Nose twitching, Castiel straightened and picked one up. He was very aware of Dean sitting across from him, watching.

When he took a bite, a smug grin spread across his face. “It’s good, eh?”

The Angel chewed thoroughly, swallowed, and stated, “I will not pick up burgers anymore.”

For some reason this seemed to confuse him. “Huh?”

“I don’t like to settle for subpar quality, especially when you seem quite capable of providing these.”

At least Dean seemed to take this as a compliment, which it was intended to be.

“I can’t do pizzas, though. Or Asian food. But I can do everything else. You’ll still get those, right?”

“Very well.”

Better still, he made chocolate chip cookies after they’d eaten the burgers. Delicious cookies that melted in his mouth. Sweets were more Gabriel’s vice than his, but even he could appreciate them.

Officially fat and happy, Castiel settled himself in a corner of the couch, dozing, wings curled around himself. He was aware he was letting his guard down far too much around a Knight of Hell, sleeping in his presence, eating food his prepared, but…he trusted his instincts. And while Demons were infamous for biting the hand that fed them, stabbing anyone in the back given a chance, his instincts were at ease in Dean’s presence. More so with each passing day. As odd as it was, he trusted him more than he did some Angels at this stage. If his instincts hadn’t been so reliable through his long life, he might ignore them, even if he wasn’t in any condition to do so. Besides, there was the simple fact that if Dean wanted him dead, he would be by now.

The Angel was jolted out of his doze when fingers brushed over his feathers. It was a light touch, one that could honestly be called gentle. Even so, Castiel recoiled. Though they were as able as a third set of limbs, strong and nimble, Angels were a bit touchy in people making contact with them. He folded them firmly to his back, turning to frown sleepily at Dean.

“Don’t do that.”

“Sorry. Never got to touch an Angel’s wings before. Well, not living, and they get all brittle after you’re ganked. Are they always that soft?”

“If they’re properly maintained, yes.”

“I’m guessing not everyone maintains them?”

“No.”

After a pause, Dean added, “But it seems like you do.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t seem like the type of guy to preen in front of the mirror every day.”

Castiel grimaced. “No. I never understood the rationality of that behavior. Are there Demons who do that too?”

“Unfortunately. Vain dicks. Can I touch if I promise not to pull anything that ain’t supposed to be pulled?”

“I don’t think I’m comfortable with that.”

“I’ll be gentle. Besides, I thought you guys liked it. Ain’t it a mating behavior or something?”

“Yes, and it is, but I fail to see what that has to do with this.” The few times he’d allowed such things it had never felt right, caused more discomfort than not, and just reinforced his dislike of having his wings touched. Hoping to redirect Dean, he asked, “What about your horns?”

“What about them?”

“Unless I’m mistaken, they’re an erogenous zone, yes? Touching them is a Demon mating behavior. Would you let me touch them?”

“I would _love_ you to touch my horns,” was the immediate and emphatic response.

Castiel blinked. Well, that had backfired. “I will not touch them. That was my point, I will leave them be.”

“Why?”

“Why are you whining?”

“Please?”

“Are you really that starved for contact?”

“Forget it,” Dean sighed.

They lapsed into silence, broken only by Dr. Sexy.

This was only broken when Dean asked, “You really like trench coats, don’t ya? I mean you got a new one right after I got the old one all bloody.”

“I am fond of them, yes. They’re practical, comfortable.”

The Demon absently fiddled with the belt, something Castiel often did himself. “It’s cool.”

“It’s quite warm, actually.”

“Not what I meant,” Dean sighed.

“It means something else?”

“’Cool’ is a more modern term for ‘nice’, or ‘neat’.”

“Oh.” Looking down at his coat, Castiel admitted, “It is clean.”

Dean chuckled at that. “You really ain’t doing it on purpose, are you?”

“Doing what?”

“A lot of stuff I say? There’s a slight whistle as it goes over your head.”

Castiel turned to frown at him. “There hasn’t been anything going over my head.”

“You ever seen Guardians of the Galaxy?”

“Is that a movie?”

“Yep. We’re gonna watch that, and maybe you’ll get it.”

Castiel watched the movie. And its successor. By that point not only was he a bit miffed at Dean for his crack, which seemed to exasperate the Demon, he was hooked on the universe those movies were set in. He was delighted to find there were many more where those had come from, even though it might take a while for him to watch them all.

The rest of his visit was uneventful otherwise, and he only left when there was enough time for him to do a patrol before returning to the base. Castiel ended up sleeping through most of his off-duty time, a pattern that repeated itself. Twice more he spent most of his patrol time with Dean before his strength began to return to its normal levels. He felt a bit guilty at first, spending all that time resting and eating and watching various movies when he should have been working. When he mentioned it to the Demon, if only after Dean nagged him about what was “making him look constipated”, he scoffed at the concern.

“You’re kidding, right? Ain’t you a commander or something? With rank comes more responsibility and more rest time. You ain’t the only Angel to cool your heels on slow missions, trust me. Besides, you’re still recuperating. If you’d been anywhere else they’d still have you in the infirmary. Now shut up and eat your spaghetti.”

It had been very good spaghetti, in truth. And Dean’s logic was sound. He still had to check in with their healer before he went on patrol.

It was exactly three weeks after he’d first stumbled onto Dean that he felt like himself again. Their healer was good, and most of the injuries had been superficial. He didn’t even retain any bruises. Unfortunately, Dean’s behavior was persistently maddening. He did odd things, and seemed to get frustrated the more he did them. If they happened to both be sitting on the couch he had a hand on the Angel, be it his thigh or arm, but Castiel only removed it if it started to climb a bit too high on his leg for comfort. Sometimes a wing would be curled around him, or draped over the back of the couch behind him, but that happened less often. He insisted on making food, he offered compliments on a daily basis, he asked for help bathing his back even though Castiel knew perfectly well the task should give him no hardship. He made more eye contact than the Angel was used to receiving, even when he spoke of things that made even his own kind go glazed in the eyes. He didn’t talk with others often, in all honesty, mostly because he knew he tended to bore people. That was something he appreciated, actually, Dean staying alert and listening when he spoke. He even asked questions and displayed genuine interest, which Castiel only half believed.

At this point he was dearly hoping Dean’s odd behavior had been tied to his injury. He’d been cleared as fully repaired today, he’d even done his three circuits before coming here. Hopefully Dean would be back to normal, especially after the most recent incident. Yesterday the Demon had invited him to play poker with the worn deck of cards he’d unearthed a week or so ago. This wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time he suggested they play something called strip poker. They hadn’t gotten very far, first because Dean complained taking off one shoe didn’t really count, then because Castiel accused him of intentionally losing.

His hopes that today would be better didn’t last long. When he got there Dean had the cabin’s old heater running, which in the Angel’s opinion was nothing short of a demonic miracle, and proceeded to crank it up far more than was necessary. He seemed delighted when Castiel was forced to shed his trench coat, the Demon himself had already been going around shirtless.

Castiel very much placed blame for the fact that he actually looked squarely on this baffling Demon’s kiss. Not excessively, he had his pride, but subtly, usually when Dean wasn’t looking back. Considering how much he ate the Demon was still in as good a shape as he’d been before, and now that his wounds were reduced to red welts, his torso was quite pleasing to the eye. Maybe the light tone of muscle wouldn’t have been so intriguing, but Castiel hadn’t noticed before that his freckles extended down over his chest. Which was already a very nice chest to begin with.

Within an hour the irritatingly pretty Demon shucked his jeans, too, but left on the boxer briefs. When he suggested Castiel take off more than his coat, since the Angel was visibly sweating, he refused. It took a great deal of temperature change to get an Angel or a Demon to feel it, but when Castiel tried to find the thermostat to turn it down Dean all but sat on him.

“If you enjoy residing in a sauna, why didn’t you fix the heater sooner?” Castiel protested, unbuttoning the topmost button of his shirt.

Dean, who had locked eyes with said button, only offered, “I got bored. And it’s healthy, you know. Cleanses the pores.”

“So after this you will return it to its previous temperature?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On how uncomfortable it makes you. You’re still fully dressed, so it can’t be that bad.”

Castiel scowled at that. “Of what consequence is my current state of dress to you?”

Dean held up his hands, fake innocence all over his face, evergreen eyes wide. “Nothing. I just thought Angels didn’t care about that kinda thing.”

“Some do. Some don’t.” He undid another button, scowling all the more when the Demon’s wings perked up at the gesture. “I don’t. What I don’t understand is why _you_ care.”

“Who said I do?” His eyes widened slightly, and he snapped his fingers. “Oh, almost forgot. I got something for you.”

“What could you have gotten for me?” Castiel protested. There wasn’t exactly much here. A bit of clutter in the basement, but nothing dangerous. He’d checked.

Dean went over to the kitchen, opening a cabinet and taking something out. He came back over, offering his token with a bow. Castiel could only stare.

A flower. Dean was giving him a flower. It was nothing special, _erica carnea,_ a hearty plant humans called winter-blooming heather. Only a little color had leached into it as of yet, a soft purple on the edges of creamy white petals. He’d seen a few clusters of various plants out back, like they’d been planted then allowed to run wild. No one had given him a flower before, neither in jest nor as a token. For a heartbeat he felt an odd warmth in his chest, unconsciously reaching out to take it with delicate fingers. Then that feeling vanished just as fast as he realized something.

“You left the cabin. Again.”

The Demon, who was watching him carefully, blinked. “For, like, two minutes this time. And I kept my power airtight, what little I’ve got. That curse was a real bitch and a half.”

“You left the cabin,” Castiel repeated, voice rising. “Why would you do that? Why would you take that risk? We’ve talked about this. You can _not_ continue to do this. It’s too dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t call it a risk,” Dean began.

“Foolish, arrogant Demon!” Castiel erupted. Later he would again wonder why he was as angry as if one of his younger soldiers had made a foolhardy risk, but right now his main focus was on not crushing the pretty flower in his anger.

“I give you a flower and that’s how you thank me?” Dean demanded as Castiel went to place it on his trench coat, where it was tossed over the table.

“You didn’t need to get me anything. Why would you cross the boundary?”

“I didn’t, but it’s a circle, remember? Not an exact border. It goes out into the back a little. Close enough for me to get to some of the plants.” He folded his arms, a frustrated scowl on his face. “Jeez, Cas, there ain’t no pleasing you, is there?”

“It’s hardly your duty to please me. I never asked you to.”

“You’re right, that’s a choice I made. A piss poor one, too, considering how well you’ve taken everything.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I haven’t even been doing the cheap stuff, either,” Dean continued, apparently as fed up as the Angel. “I’m doing all the gentlemanly stuff that’s genuine. But no, I might as well be asking you if it hurt when you fell from Heaven.”

Castiel bristled, drawing himself up to his full height, which put him at only two inches shorter than Dean, grace sparking in his eyes. “I have _not_ fallen from Heaven,” he bit out. “I will thank you not to repeat such an insult again.”

Dean threw up his hands. “See? This is what I’m talking about. Every single thing I throw at you gets twisted around.”

For his part, Castiel had had enough. And seeing as Dean could not storm out as he had nowhere to storm to, he stalked for the door. “I need some air, when I return I’m bringing cement with me” he bit out, wrenching it open and slamming it on his heels.

Honestly. He might as well be delirious with fever for all the sense he made. Castiel paced away from the cabin, wings bristling at his back. It was cooler out here, at least, which helped.

_“Stupid, taking a risk like that,”_ he muttered. He didn’t speak his original language much, mostly because no one used it and even fewer understood it. In his human life he’d used both Egyptian and Latin, though he was partial to the former. Using it often helped calm him, or make sense of things. _“Why? What is there to gain? What is there to gain from any of it? I won’t lay with him, I won’t scratch his itch. Even if I was inclined, he’s a Demon. You don’t sleep with Demons unless you’re an Archangel. At least Gabriel can just blast anyone who argues or looks at Sam sideways. Lucky fool. Yes, he’s enjoyable to look at. Yes, he has appeal. But it means nothing. It never will.”_

He was so busy talking to himself, absorbed in his personal dilemma, he didn’t notice he had company until one of them spoke.

“Wow, never seen an Angel muttering like that before. What is that? It’s not Enochian.”

“Sounds old.”

“Who cares? Let’s kill him and go. We haven’t found you-know-who yet.”

Castiel had stopped in his tracks before the first had finished his exclamation. He was tense, on alert, and mentally kicking himself. Four Demons had spread out to his left, and he turned to put them all in his line of sight. There were no others, he couldn’t feel any more, and he’d made the mistake of not locking down his own grace in his irritation. Likely that was how they’d found him.

“Thank you for the interruption,” he drawled, blade falling into his palm. “I could use the exercise.” Perhaps killing a few Demons would clarify things for his instincts.

He didn’t hear her or see her, but he felt her. On pure instinct he pivoted, swinging out of the way with barely enough time to spare, his shirt ripping as the stolen blade nearly pierced his side. Castiel backed up, trying to put both this newcomer and the four others in his line of sight. This one, a female, sported red hair and horns nearly as large as Dean’s, painted lips curling in a smile.

“Not bad. Seraph, right?”

“Abaddon. I expected scavengers to descend. Not another Knight.” Only a Knight of Hell at full strength gave off that sort of power, for all she’d masked it well for her ambush. Abaddon was the only female among their ranks with red hair, according to battlefield descriptions.

“Well, I was never one to waste an opportunity. I expected more of Alistair, but if you want something done right, do it yourself. Now, be a good boy and tell me where Dean is. I can smell him on you.”

Castiel thought fast, gripping his blade tight. He’d stupidly left the brass knuckles in his trench coat, but then he didn’t want to get in close quarters with Abaddon. Nor did he want to send his squadron to the slaughter by summoning them here.

He was still trying to decide on whether to try fleeing or not when Abaddon lazily snapped her fingers. She took the decision from his hands, as apparently that was the signal for her black-eyed lackies to attack. They did so, with battle cries and great enthusiasm.

The Angel gladly met them. The first to reach him had their strike ducked, and Castiel grabbed their wrist to redirect the momentum so they stabbed themselves in the gut. They went down, hitting the dirt even as Castiel met the second Demon. He grabbed their wrist before they could do more than raise it, jamming his blade up into their skull under their jaw, yanking it out and shoving the corpse back into the third Demon, pivoting around them to face a very surprised Demon number four. That one died with the shocked look on their face.

Demon number three had shoved their dead companion away, jerking back a step. Castiel grabbed her shoulder and rammed his bloodied blade into her back, seeing the flicker as her blackened soul went to join the Empty before he wrenched it free.

When he turned, barely breathing hard, Abaddon was clapping slowly, a delighted smile on her face.

“Well done! Don’t get too full of yourself, I brought disposables for this, but you are _very_ fast. Castiel, is it?”

He said nothing, face set in hard lines. He always found it annoying when an enemy knew his name, but it was the downside to being proficient in something. He’d taken pains to sharpen various skills, but his speed was something he’d been proud of since he was a fledgling. Uriel might have been among the funniest in the heavenly host, but he was one of the fastest. Even Gabriel struggled to beat him.

“That speed doesn’t go into _everything_ , does it?” Abaddon was asking.

When he didn’t respond, she sighed heavily.

“You older Angels, no appreciation for innuendos. At least that gets the younger ones flustered.”

Castiel was still trying to make sense of that when she raised a gun. Not willing to chance it, Castiel hit the ground as she fired the first shot, throwing up a shield of grace as he rolled out of the way. He felt two more bullets hit it, right before he rocked back onto his heels and teleported behind Abaddon. He tried to run her through, but she spun before he could, catching his blade on one of her own.

The smile she gave him was downright predatory. “You’re good,” she purred. “You made me drop my gun.”

With that, she proceeded to slam her forehead forward. Since she was a bit shorter than him, their weapons raised out of the way, this meant her blow caught him squarely in the mouth. He held his ground, even as his eyes watered and his mouth filled with blood. She’d split his lip.

Spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground, he shoved her blade away and made to return with a blow of his own. It cost him, for all he did manage to cut her cheek instead of slit her throat. A cut opened in his arm, short and shallow, but a cut all the same.

Back and forth they went, even faster than he and Uriel. It occurred to him, if later, that he’d gotten into more fights on this ‘quiet posting’ since Dean had shown up. He was going to need to use some of his piled-up leave time after this for some actual rest, he was sure of it.

Abaddon, to his dismay, was a much better opponent than Uriel. She put up more of a fight. Within a minute both were panting, bloody, and bruised. Castiel backed up, putting some distance between her and him as soon as it was safe to do so in an attempt to catch his breath. This wasn’t good, he was reluctant to summon his squadron for a Knight of Hell but he might not have a choice.

No sooner had he had this thought than Abaddon threw back her head and laughed.

“What is so amusing?” he demanded, spitting out more blood. He’d stopped the bleeding on his lip, but only a second ago.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a good fight.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before her hand flashed up, catching something to the side of her head even as she ducked it sideways. Castiel’s heart sank as he saw the kitchen cleaver in her hand. She stared at it a moment, then turned to look back the way it’d come. Castiel looked too, feeling what could almost be called panic at seeing Dean stalking towards them, wings flared, eyes black, Castiel’s spare blade in his hand.

“Long time no see, bitch.”

He’d put his t-shirt, pants, and boots back on, at least. But he looked as though he intended to do battle. He wasn’t ready for that.

In a desperate attempt to keep that from happening, Castiel gave a sharp flap, trying to reach Abaddon before she could launch an attack of her own. He should have known better. She was almost as fast as him. Fast enough she turned to face him at the last minute, blade slicing into his left arm right before a boot to the chest sent him flying backwards.

“Hey! The hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m having fun with a pest,” Abaddon drawled. “I know you don’t like playing with your food, but come _on.”_

Castiel dragged himself onto his side, panting, staring as the two Knights of Hell faced off. He’d been cleared for full duty, but he wasn’t completely back to full strength yet. Otherwise he wouldn’t be so worn out already. He should have fled when he’d had the chance, before Dean had come out. Unless Dean took the opportunity to return to Hell, now that one of his own was here.

“Where’ve you been? The Boss has been worried.”

Dean snorted. “Lucifer doesn’t give a shit about me or what I do. He didn’t even like me before Sam went turncoat.”

“Exactly. What are we supposed to think when you vanish like that? Now I find you out here with a choir boy.” She tutted at him, shaking her head. “I mean, he’s an excellent specimen if you’re going to roll through the hay with one of these halos, but I thought you had standards.”

“I’m alive because Alistair’s lackies are even more incompetent that yours.” Dean waved a hand at the four dead Demons behind him. “And I’m that awesome. This was one of the mooks they sent out to see if I was really dead. If you hadn’t interrupted my hunt, I’d be getting a set of Seraph wings fitted for my wall by now.”

Castiel went cold all over. Dean was bluffing, wasn’t he? Or had his instincts been wrong?

“Hunt?” Abaddon repeated incredulously. “One lone Angel doesn’t need that much care.”

“Yeah, because you took him down so easy,” Dean scoffed. “He’s a damn Seraph. I like my face the way it is, I don’t need it broken because I got cocky.”

The Angel was watching them both closely, looking for a chance, any chance. This meant he saw Dean’s slowly shifting grip on his blade. Abaddon didn’t, or at least she didn’t seem to. Castiel knew that hold. It was the one he himself used when he was about to throw his blade. He hadn’t seen Dean throw this one yet, but he’d seen holes in the wall that had been the obvious victim of target practice. They’d been grouped quite well.

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe he’d been right. Either way, he had to do something. If he was wrong, he’d have time to get off a message through Angel radio before he was dead. If he was right…well, he’d just have to see.

Pulling himself up onto one knee, he called, “Hey, assbutt!”

Abaddon swung around, and caught her second blade that day, only this time the point was within an inch of her nose. She lowered it, a scornful smile on her face. “Really? Is that the best you’ve-”

She froze, eyes going wide as the point of Castiel’s second blade sprouted from her throat, her blackened soul flickering under her skin. Not unlike her so called worthless lackies, in fact. Then as quick as it had gone in, the blade was wrenched free. Abaddon, Knight of Hell, crumpled to the ground, dead at Dean’s feet.

Eyes gone back to a human evergreen rather than a demonic black lifted to Castiel, one eyebrow arching incredulously. “’Assbutt’?”

Castiel could only shrug, dragging himself to his feet and stumbling a step.

“Well, it’s a start.” Dean looked around, eyeing the other four dead Demons. “I never liked her. Too haughty, too bitchy. Wasted good soldiers like they grew on fucking trees.” Looking back at Castiel, he mused, “It’ll look good, having her head on your wall. Think it’ll balance out the other dick?”

The Angel stared at him a moment, then asked, “What do you mean?”

“I am not here. I was never here. You’re gonna have to call in that cleanup crew again.” Waving his blade at Abaddon, poking her with a booted toe, he added, “It’d be more trouble than it’s worth to say it was me even if I wasn’t in hiding.”

Castiel looked at her, then slowly raised his eyes back up to Dean. “You killed a Knight of Hell.”

Dean just shrugged. “She ain’t the first. Aside from Sam all the others were dicks.”

“Why did you not let her kill me?”

From the look this got him, Castiel would have thought he’d sprouted a second head. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“She is one of your own, is she not?”

A sour scowl crossed Dean’s face, which didn’t go well with his pretty features. “Jeez, Cas. You think…I would have ganked her regardless, but I had to just now. Otherwise she would have killed you, and she likes to drag things out. No way I was letting her do that.”

“Why not?”

“How about because I’m not a dick? Did you really think I’d let you get yourself killed?”

“I was under the impression Demons didn’t get…attached.”

“Some do. Some don’t. Not all of us got it burned out. Look, uh, you need to get back to that healer. Let me get back to the cabin, get you your coat, then you call in your reinforcements. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

Castiel nodded, but Dean didn’t go back. He stepped over Abaddon, skirting her wings, slowly coming over to stand by him. He hesitated, then moved his blade to his left hand. Dominate hand freed, he raised it to touch his lip with a thumb. Castiel’s eyes widened as he felt the split heal, probing where the wound had been with his tongue. It was gone. He’d known Demons could heal, it just wasn’t generally as good as what Angels could do.

“Thank you,” he said, surprised.

Dean cracked a smile. He leaned up, pressing his lips briefly to what Castiel assumed was a blood-free part of his forehead. When he withdrew, he flipped the blade in his hand so it was point down then offered it to the Angel. “You’re gonna need this. They’ll know it’s the one what did it.”

Castiel stood right where he was, watching as Dean stepped back and trotted back to the cabin. He came back a minute later, as promised, even took the liberty of rolling his trench coat around in the brush to dirty it up a bit before helping the Angel into it. As he did, Castiel saw the flower tucked into an inner pocket. Inconspicuous like.

“Dean?”

The Demon, who’d started trotting back, paused and looked over his shoulder.

“Thank you for the flower. I sincerely doubt your leaving the cabin for so short a time drew any risk. And…thank you, for…saving my life.”

Dean grinned, gave him a two-fingered salute, then bounded back to the cabin. There was a noticeable bounce to his gait that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps he should reevaluate his perception of this Demon. Not Demons as a whole, but this one. He seemed…special. Unique.

Lowering himself to the ground with a groan, Castiel closed his eyes and tapped into Angel radio. If there was a light tingle in his forehead, where he’d allowed the presumptuous Demon to kiss him yet again, he had to bury it long enough to get his message through. He had more critical things to consider at the moment. Dean was right, they could discuss it at his next visit.


	7. Chapter 7

As predicted, Castiel was again carted away to the infirmary, where he was scolded for finding trouble twice in the space of a week. At least this time it was an easier fix. The plasma and holy oil had been the root cause for his previous slow recovery, but this time Ephraim was able to heal him with relative ease. Enough he was cleared for duty once more in time for his next patrol.

As he made a few laps, Castiel paid strict attention to his surroundings. He even did a route that took him over the cabin, mimicking the route Uriel had thought he was taking. Only when he was completely sure there was no one in the area, save for the local wildlife, he touched down just outside where he knew the cabin to be hidden.

Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t to find Gabriel leaning against a nearby tree, munching on one of those triangular candy bars. He gave a start when he saw the elder Angel essentially pop into existence after he touched down, especially since he hadn’t sensed anyone. It was reinforcement of his notion that Archangels weren’t among those you wanted to irk.

“Gabriel. Is all well?”

“Yes and no,” the Archangel mused, popping off another triangle and munching on it. “Sorry, Sam hates it when I eat these things by the bar. I gotta get my fix when I can.” He chewed, swallowed, then pointed what remained of his candy stick at Castiel. “You, baby bro, are gonna get yourself a promotion if you keep this up.”

Castiel blinked. “What? Why?”

Gabriel’s response was a smirk, the sort of smirk that made Castiel uneasy. “Think about it. First you killed Uriel in self-defense, and despite his so-called popularity among the political Angels there’s few who’re morning him that actually miss him. Plus he had a lot of folks believing he was more capable than he actually was, so there are a lot of impressed higher ups. Then, when you’re barely recovered, you single handedly slew a Knight of Hell and four henchmen. That, Cassie, is impressive.”

A weak “Oh”, was all he could manage. Ranking up was well enough, but he’d preferred to enjoy the benefits of anonymity. Credit where credit was due, doing his part, a very non-troublesome cog in a greater machine. It was simpler, safer, this way.

“Be honest, between me and you, who really killed those Demons? And don’t worry about Dean-o, we’re warded. He won’t see or hear us.”

Castiel, who’d just glanced towards the cabin, grimaced. “Does it matter?”

“To me, who knows exactly what’s going on here.”

He hesitated, then admitted slowly, “I killed the four Abaddon brought with her. I was fighting with her, and I had reached the point I didn’t think victory would be obtained.”

He didn’t mention his Plan B had been to, as the humans said, ‘go nuclear’. A technique by which an Angel could tap into their grace and set it off like a bomb. The sigil was simple enough, he’d be able to get it carved into his chest before Abaddon could have stopped him. All he had to do was summon reinforcements before he stabbed it, and the Knight would have gotten a massive explosion of raw grace that would have slowed even her down. From what he understood, taking a hit like that at close quarters would wound her enough his squadron could easily finish her, assuming she survived. The only downside of this plan would have been that, in going nuclear, the Angel would essentially become a suicide bomber. Castiel had never thought highly of those who did it when the circumstances weren’t dire, but in that moment, knowing it would weaken her enough for his squadron not to take losses in finishing what he’d started, knowing the chances were too great Abaddon could find and slay a weakened Dean…it had seemed a worthy price. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but it had.

“What about the queen bitch herself?” Gabriel was asking.

“Dean left the wards,” he admitted slowly.

The Archangel smirked. “That’s part of why I came out here. I felt it break, again. There’s this teeny, tiny crack out in the garden. This one showed up about twelve hours before I got word a Knight of Hell had been killed. You know that’s all it takes to break a trap.”

Castiel could only stare at him. “But it’s the most powerful trap that could be created,” he blurted. “You poured your power into it. Lucifer wouldn’t have been able to budge it. How does he keep breaking it?”

“He’s smart about it,” Gabriel reminded him dismissively. “There’s a reason we prefer special chains and prisons to hold our P.O.W.’s. There’s a reason Sam’s got this really nice bracelet with charms and sigils in it to keep him inside a perimeter. Devil’s Traps can be unreliable. If the Demon’s strong enough, they just need to give a little seismic jiggle and boom, crack, they’re free.”

The Seraph had gone very still as Gabriel spoke. “Twelve hours,” he repeated. “He keeps breaking it, but that’s the biggest gap between him doing so and my arrival. Why would he not leave, then?”

“Because he’s not stupid?” Gabriel suggested, eyebrow raised. “Dean’s stubborn, but he’s a realist. He might be able to break it, but he burns up what little he might have had doing it. It’ll take a few more days before he gets that much back. I’m guessing you’ve got another few weeks of him, at least, before he’s anywhere near strong enough to reenter the world at large.”

“You said out back,” Castiel pressed, only half listening. “Where the flowers are?”

“Yeah, why?”

Wordlessly, Castiel slowly reached into his jacket, pulling out the flower that was still there.

“Oh. Well, that’s another reason he stayed. And it explains why he killed Abaddon.”

Dragging his eyes back up, Castiel asked, “How? How does that explain it? He’s been acting odd, but…did he think I wouldn’t notice? Or think to fix it? If I hadn’t been so preoccupied yesterday I would have. Perhaps that’s why he gave me this. As a diversion.”

“Think again, Cassie.”

“What, then? What else am I to think?”

“How about you’ve got one of the most ruthless Knights of Hell smitten?” Gabriel asked, smirking as he popped another bit of triangular chocolate into his mouth.

Castiel could practically hear his train of thought screeching to a halt. “What?” he choked out.

“He likes you.”

“Why? How? Do they have that capacity?”

“Dunno. Dunno. Yes. Look, you knew from the jump they were wired differently than most Demons. Otherwise you wouldn’t have spared him. From what I understand, Dean would have gladly killed Abaddon anyway. But if he really wanted out of here, he could have waited until she’d killed you first. Just think about it. I’m only telling you because I know how oblivious you can be.”

“I’m not oblivious,” Castiel protested, offended. “I’m very observant.”

“Not with everything, Cassie.” Gabriel ate the last of his chocolate, shrugging away from his tree. “I gotta bounce. But think about it, alright? I don’t know if they’ll let me have another pet, and he’ll be needing a keeper when he’s well enough to take upstairs. What with your recent accomplishments and your pristine record, I think they’ll be open to the idea. Oh, and thanks for the names. I’ve been putting them to use.”

With one last wiggle of his eyebrows, Gabriel was gone. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Castiel marched forward. He’d come here enough to remember the signs, when to step up so he wouldn’t trip on the cabin’s porch. As soon as his boot touched down on the wood the cabin rippled into view, and he went to open the door.

“Dean?” he called, a habit he’d developed to avoid any more thrown blades.

The Demon wandered over, hands thrust into his jean pockets, looking him up and down. After a moment, he gave a whistle. “Looking good. At least you’ve got a good healer. They even fixed your ear.”

Castiel’s hand automatically went to the nick Abaddon had put in the shell of his ear. It was as though the wound had never been there. “Yes. Ephraim is very skilled.” He’d had the Rit Zien in his squadron for nearly a century, they were familiar with each other, and in all honesty that was probably the only reason he was allowed to escape the infirmary’s clutches so soon at this posting. Ephraim knew he would be careful, unless he absolutely had to do otherwise.

The Demon circled him slowly, still grinning. “What’re you in the mood for? You’re gonna have to make another run in a day or two, but I can do burgers or taquitos and nachos.”

While he was fond of Dean’s taquitos, especially with his handmade salsa and guacamole, Castiel was in the mood for comfort food. “Burgers, please.”

“You got it.” Glancing back at him as he went to the kitchen, he asked, “No cement?”

“No cement. A wise human once said that the definition of insanity is to repeat the same action over and over, expecting different results. I am many things, but I like to think I’ve retained my sanity over the years.”

Castiel watched him go to open the fridge, taking a deep breath and deciding to just come out with it. “Why do you break the Devil’s Trap, over and over if you don’t mean to escape?”

For a moment Dean was quiet, staring into the ice box. Then he closed it without taking anything out, turning to face him, expression grim. “What’s it to you?”

“Curiosity.”

Dean raked a hand back through his hair, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t like being locked up,” he admitted at last. “I would do it just to see where I was. See if the tank was refilling. Wasn’t able to budge anything for a while, but doing that much just tapped me out. Every time I do it the tank takes a little less time to refill.” After a beat he added, “I don’t like being tied down. But I ain’t going anywhere. Figured you would ‘a noticed, then tracked me down to beat my ass and drag me back.”

“You’re not wrong,” Castiel admitted. He studied the Demon for a moment, then asked, “Have you given it any thought? What will become of you when you’re fully recuperated?”

That got him a wry smile. He raised his arms in a shrug, admitting, “I’ve been trying not to. Figured I’d end up like Sam, stuck upstairs, just not so cushy.”

“Why would you choose that, if you hate being caged? Why not go back?”

Dean snorted outright. “To what? Hell’s gone to shit. It’ll only get worse after Alistair tried and failed. People will either be pissed he’s dead or think they stand a chance. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is, busting your ass and breaking heads and still having to watch your own back ‘cause people get pissy you’re too damn good at your job? The one thing worse than a fucking cage is a damn viper pit.”

Castiel’s head slowly tipped to one side. “You’ve grown weary of being a Knight of Hell?”

“Yeah. As much as that fucking curse sucked ass, this is the best vacation I’ve had in centuries.” He opened the fridge again, taking out beef and other ingredients. “Besides, any friends I might have had are dead or turned. I can’t get attached to anyone ‘cause they’ll get put on the front lines. I can’t trust anyone ‘cause they’ll get turned on me. Hell’s full of spiteful bastards. So yeah, I’m getting tired of it. I don’t owe anybody anything, and the only reason I’ve lasted as long as I have is because I _am_ a Knight.”

“The only one to whom you’re attached is Sam. Who’s in Heaven.”

“Bingo. So, I figure, I’ve been around long enough and know enough people I can be too useful to gank right away.” Glancing at him sidelong and winking slowly, he continued, “If I can convince a smoking hot Seraph I’m worth keeping around, all the better.”

Castiel wasn’t sure what shocked him more, Dean’s words or the surge of bitter jealousy climbing up his throat. He’d felt it a few times, not often but enough to know what it was. But never had it burned hot in his chest, climbing up his throat like bile. What was there to be jealous of?

Worse, it was bad enough he spoke without thought, asking, “You know other Seraph’s?”

An expression he’d been seeing a lot, something between exasperation and frustration, returned to Dean’s face. “No, I don’t know any other Seraph’s,” he sighed, setting a pan on the stove. “None that I left alive, anyhow. Just you.”

“I’ve been fortunate, then. You seem intent on keeping me alive.”

That just got him a grunt, Dean’s head bent to his work. Castiel kept out of the way, sitting at the table, watching him work, gears churning. He had been aware that words seemed to be difficult for him, Dean preferring rougher, cruder language rather than discuss such things when it didn’t involve a Dr. Sexy plot. Castiel, meanwhile, was the opposite. Words were easier, simpler, less messy. Perhaps this was causing their disconnect.

As for what Gabriel had told him…Castiel believed his words. The Archangel might be a trickster, prone to pranks and jokes, but he wouldn’t fib about this. Not to him. Perhaps that would explain Dean’s recent oddities, he was attempting to engage in mating behaviors with an oblivious partner. Even when he’d tried to preen his wings, it hadn’t occurred to Castiel those were his intentions. Particularly after their discussion about such things, Dean teasing him for his lack of sexual inclinations. For all that, they had been spending more time in each other’s company, for better or worse. Dean could be highly frustrating, stubborn, cocky, crude, rude. But he would back off when it was clear he was toeing a line, for all he seemed to enjoy ruffling the Angel’s feathers. He joked, he talked, he listened…Castiel genuinely enjoyed his company. He enjoyed eating his food, talking with him, watching movies and TV with him. It was very domestic, all things considered. More than he’d enjoyed since his first days as a fledgling. Perhaps it was tied to his enjoyment of quiet, but he liked domestic. The simplicity, the lack of conflict beyond the obligatory arguments.

It occurred to Castiel abruptly his upset at the last two incidents that had involved death and blood had run deeper than he’d thought. He’d hated it. Hated his special bubble had been broken. Hated he’d had to lay his life on the line to deal with upstarts. Hated he’d had to deal with Uriel’s smug face. Hated he’d had to deal with the bloodthirsty heathen that was Abaddon. Hated Dean had felt the need to leave the safety of their wards, even if it was to save his life. Now that he considered it, he was as upset about Dean stepping into the line of fire as he was at the notion he’d nearly died himself.

Part of the reason he’d decided on demisexual when he’d realized modern humans had begun putting names to such things was because the definition was better suited to him than any of the others. Asexual came close, however he could feel sexual attraction for a person, but only after a bond or romantic connection had been formed. This was the definition of a demisexual, as he understood it.

“When you mentioned falling from Heaven, was that an attempt at a flirtation?” he asked abruptly.

Dean glanced up from his work. “What? Oh, yeah. It’s one of those cheesy pick-up lines humans use.”

“Does it work?” Castiel asked incredulously.

“If it does, generally it’s because either you’re hitting on a bimbo or someone who has a sense of humor.”

“Oh.” Castiel pondered this, then decided, “I’ve never been injured coming down from Heaven. But I’m always dirty and bloody when I come out of Hell.”

Dean, who’d been taking a swing from a beer bottle, spat the brew out in a spray, choking even as he roared with laughter.

The Angel watched him, a bit taken aback. He waited until he thought he could be heard to ask, “Did I not answer appropriately?”

“No, you did fine,” Dean wheezed, wiping some moisture from one eye. “Some of the crappier pick-up lines have shut-downs to go with ‘em. The one you mentioned? Some smartass human suggested ‘no, but I broke a nail climbing out of Hell’. Yours was better, partially ‘cause you’re serious.”

Castiel glanced at his hands. “I’ve done that too, but more often than not I’ve had more severe injuries.” He still didn’t quite understand, but he’d made Dean laugh. Quite enthusiastically at that.

“You’re an odd bird, ya know that?” Dean asked, shaking his head as he went back to work.

The Angel frowned. His wings ruffled a little at his back. “Just because my wings are feathered does not mean I’m kin to an avian.”

“Expression, Cas,” Dean drawled, flipping cooking patties in his pan. It was something he’d said with frequent regularity.

Cobalt eyes ran the Demon up and down slowly as he worked. Since Dean was always very focused on cooking, it was the best time to do so. He’d thought the jeans would be too big, but they fit well enough. Clinging to his ass and thighs, set low enough on his hips that when he raised his arms to take things down from cabinets his t-shirt lifted to bare a strip of skin. It was far more intriguing than it should have been. Though to be fair, Dean was pleasing to look at in general. Should he share that? Wouldn’t that be a suitable flirtation, complementing the appearance of the source of your affection?

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he tried, “Your bone structure is aesthetically pleasing.”

Dean turned to stare at him blankly, then jerked back from the stove with a curse, shaking the hand that had gotten burned by grease when he’d paused in the middle of turning bacon. “What are you, a robot?” he asked absently, hands going back into motion.

“Not that I’m aware of.” He drooped a little. It was his first attempt, first attempts were often the least successful.

“You’ve really never done this before, have you?”

“No.” He’d never had the time or capacity to pursue the few he’d been attracted to. And it really was a few. By his count Dean made four. Four appealing possibilities in many, many years.

“Hey, you’re genuine. That means a lot, you know. I thought I made it clear before I’m beyond sick of fake shit.”

So he hadn’t failed? Did that mean his genuineness balanced out his lack of skill? It was a hope he clung to. “I put a lot of effort into not being fake. Unless it’s a case of survival.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like my reports don’t mention you.”

Dean eyed him sidelong. “I thought you guys reported everything.”

“I’m…selective. And I do report what I learn.”

“To who?”

“Gabriel. He’s in a better position to do something with turncoats, and frankly it’s more trouble than I care to deal with.”

“How do you do that?”

“A messenger I trust. But he doesn’t know what he’d delivering. It’s better if he’s unaware.”

“Plausible deniability?”

“Yes.”

“Think I’d better stop, if you’re reporting. Need to save some stuff for after you guys haul my ass upstairs.” As he started to plate the burgers he asked absently, “You gonna do that yourself? Or is Gabe gonna send handlers?”

“The method of prisoner retrieval is highly dependent on the nature of the package and how capable the handler is.”

“Not what I asked, Cas.”

He pondered a moment, then, “I don’t think he’ll send handlers.”

“Really? No entourage for the Knight of Hell?”

_“A_ Knight of Hell,” Castiel corrected, then shrugged. “Do you want an entourage?”

“Not really.”

“Then why complain?”

“I’m supposed to be dangerous,” Dean whined, bringing over two platters. “You know, one of Hell’s greatest badasses.”

“You don’t seem very dangerous.”

“Not to you. To other people.”

“If it’s any consolation, your dangerousness will likely earn you the same extent of house arrest as Sam is currently enjoying.”

“Yeah, but that’s no fun.”

“But it’s fun to be moved under heavy guard?”

“That’s not the point,” Dean sighed, dropping down across from him.

“I know.”

That earned him an odd look. “You do?”

“I do.” But rather than explain, he picked up a burger and took a bite. Normally he displayed restraint, but he was fairly sure sounds could also be used to entice a mate. So he moaned as he bit into one of his favorite treats. Not a lot, and not very loud, but enough to not be mistaken.

“That good?” Dean asked, eyebrows arched.

The Angel nodded. They ate mostly in silence after that, Castiel pondering. He wanted to please the Demon, make him happy as Dean had tried to do for him. He liked to cook, and he was running out of ingredients. So he would procure more.

When he had eaten his fill he said, “If you make a list I will get more supplies.”

“Okay, but it can wait until tomorrow.”

Castiel frowned at that, head tilting at having his attempt dodged. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Dean stood, gathering the dishes and carrying them to the sink.

He switched gears as he moved to stand by the couch, brow furrowed. Unlike Dean, he wasn’t exactly privy to his enemy’s mating practices. Did they touch each other’s wings? Did they give certain gifts? Prepare certain foods? Make certain gestures?

Curious, he waited for Dean to come over, watching his half-folded wings. Unlike theirs, demonic wings were spans of flesh stretched between bone-like appendages. He’d considered them intriguing, and less messy, for all most Angels wrote them off as disgusting. At least Demons didn’t molt every decade.

The Angel hesitated, then reached out to touch one of the larger, thicker extensions at the base of Dean’s left wing. For half a second he froze, then he was whirling around, grabbing Castiel’s hand. His eyes were black when he jerked around, but they went back to green a heartbeat later.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered gruffly, releasing his wrist. “Don’t, uh, don’t do that. Not when I don’t know you’re gonna. They’re more…delicate than yours.”

“My apologies.” He hesitated, then asked, “May I touch your horns?”

“Seriously?”

“Well, yes. I think we’ve established I have no idea what I’m doing, and surprises aren’t taken well.”

Dean gave him a sheepish smile at that. “Try telling me you don’t have battle instincts.”

“I do. That’s why I’m not offended by your reaction.”

After a very long look, Dean grabbed his hand, pulling him over to the couch. “Sit.”

Castiel obediently sat, watching him. Dean puttered about, fetching the last two beers, putting on a western movie involving cowboys. Dean was fond of his westerns. When he settled back down, he reached over and took the Angel’s hand.

“Let’s start here.”

“What?”

“This is a typical, modern date.”

“Date?”

“A date is like courting. People who are interested in each other spending time together to see about developing a relationship.”

“Oh. I see. Haven’t you been doing this for a while?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure it counts if you didn’t know. And I think you’d get offended if I just jump your bones outright.”

“What bones would you jump?”

“Cas.”

“Expression?”

“Yahtzee.”

“What is the expression meant to mean?”

“Aggressive fornication. Straight enough for ya?”

The Angel could only blink, a little stunned for all this was the clearest Dean had ever been. “I take your meaning, yes.”

“Fucking finally,” the Demon muttered.

“I thought it was me you wanted to fuck.”

“Cas,” Dean groaned, tilting his head back, eyes closed.

“Yes, yes, expression,” the Angel sighed.

“Alright, screw this.” Dean upended his beer, chugging what remained in his bottle in a single draft. Then he let go of Castiel’s hand, and proceeded to crawl over until he could climb astride his lap.

Castiel stared stupidly up at the Demon who had a knee braced to either side of his hips, plopping his rump on his thighs, hands settling on his shoulders. “I believe I’m more familiar with that phrase. The newer fledglings use it, but I’m not sure I’ve heard it in this context.” He knew he was babbling, but it just kept coming. “It’s probably best you’re so blunt. Subtly is often lost on me in these things. But considering how often you get entertainment out of it I think you’re very aware of- “

“Stop talking.”

Even if he’d wanted to keep talking Castiel wouldn’t have been able to. He froze, going perfectly still, eyes widening as a mouth slanted over his own, just like he had the first time. _What do I do? What am I supposed to do? What does he_ want _me to do? He smells like pine sap and bacon. He doesn’t taste like bacon. He tastes good._

Dean pulled back, stated, “You think too much. Knock it off,” and came right back in for round two.

His eyes fluttering shut wasn’t voluntary, but nor did he resist. It felt right. He hesitated, then pressed up into the lips moving against his own. He was very aware he was fumbling, he felt clumsy, but Dean persisted.

When they parted again the Demon said, “Breathe through your nose, just relax.” The third time he pulled away it was, “You can use your hands, you know.”

Said hands, which had been fisted in his coat for lack of anything else to do, slowly released their grip. He gingerly reached up, until his fingers brushed up over Dean’s arms, then to his shoulders. Timidly, he reached fingertips up to touch Dean’s cheek. When he didn’t object, the Angel stroked up along his jaw and cheek with his other hand.

“Atta boy,” Dean murmured against his lips.

“Good?” he gasped when he pulled away.

Lips that looked a bit redder and wetter than he remembered pulled into a smile. “Yeah. Good. You okay with this?”

“I think so.”

The next sound that left his throat was more of a squawk than anything else. Dean, who was already giving a smug smile, just grinned all the wider. “I think you are too.”

Castiel looked down at the hand that was palming his crotch, then back up into dilating green eyes. He hadn’t thought to take stock of… _that._ But there was no doubt of the reaction that was pressing hard against Dean’s palm. “This doesn’t usually happen,” he managed breathlessly.

“Awesome.”

The Angel took solace in that. And the fact that Dean still seemed enthusiastic. This time it wasn’t written off as being that desperate a need for connection, though. Later, perhaps, but right this moment it was by far superseded by the rather jarring realization that Dean was serious. This didn’t feel fake, it didn’t feel forced. For whatever reason, this beautiful if demonic creature wanted _him._

He had no idea how long they were on the couch, Dean kneeling astride him, hands on him, the Angel’s hands never leaving him in turn. He delighted at being able to touch him, remarkably soft skin, rough stubble, even his hair was soft. How was he managing this?

Castiel had fingers buried in his hair, one of Dean’s hands was in his own short strands, the other cupping his neck, when the Angel’s eyes flew wide.

_“Commander, come in. I’m sorry to disturb you, Commander, but I need your guidance.”_

The disappointed groan had Dean pulling away, both of them breathing hard.

“What’s wrong?” he asked roughly.

“Angel radio. One moment.”

“You’re answering them?” Dean protested.

“I must. I’m their commander. Once I respond we can return to what we were doing.”

He didn’t _need_ to put his finger to his temple, per say, but it helped him focus. Particularly when he had a very enchanting, very pouty Demon sitting on his lap. Something made doubly difficult considering the issue still raging in his pants. He’d have to find a way to tend that, and soon.

_“Yes, Hannah. Is there a disturbance?”_

_“Possibly. I have the northern patrol today. There is something…odd. I’ve never seen it before.”_

_“Are you sure it’s not the native wildlife? This is your first patrol away from out base.”_

_“I’ve checked with the others. It’s not a moose or polar bear, or anything else that would match this size that would be native in this area.”_

Castiel’s brow furrowed, but only partially because of what Hannah was reporting. Dean had decided to occupy himself with pressing kisses along his jaw and neck. It was highly distracting.

_“Is there a scent, or a sound? Do you just see movement?”_

_“Just movement. It’s large and slow.”_

_“Have you been able to reach Kelvin? He usually has that route.”_

_“No. He’s unreachable.”_ After a beat of hesitation, Hannah added, _“He is off duty, and was going to visit Jessica.”_

He grimaced at that. Kelvin didn’t take mates, but Jessica was his current lover. _“Understood.”_ Trying to push Dean away with his free hand he hissed, “Stop that!”

The Demon’s response was to lean forward and lightly flick the tip of his tongue over his lips.

_“Is everything alright, Commander?”_

_“Yes, Hannah, thank you. Just…enthusiastic wildlife.”_ Before she could ask, he continued, _“Do you smell sulfur? Do you sense anything familiar?”_

_“No, I don’t smell sulfur. I think it’s…wet dog.”_

_“If it’s too large to be a wolf, it is likely you’ve encountered a werewolf or black dog. Approach with caution, make sure you’re armed. If it’s more than one or two, call in another Angel to deal with them. Some run in packs, and while they should be easy to kill they can do serious damage before they go down.”_

_“Understood. Thank you, Commander. I will provide the details in my report.”_

Castiel turned his attention back to Dean, simultaneously relieved and irritated. “What was that about?”

“Having fun,” Dean snickered. “What was _that_ about? Angel radio, right?”

“Yes. One of my squadron is newer. She’s efficient, loyal, but she hasn’t been among the other creatures that inhabit this world. I think she’s found werewolves to the north of our base.”

“Good for her.” With that he tangled both hands in Castiel’s hair and kissed him greedily. “Now if you’ll let me, I can do something about little Cas.”

The Angel gasped when they parted, asking, “Little Cas?”

He got his answer when Dean unbuckled his belt. His surprised intake of breath was smothered by another kiss, right before the Demon slid off him. Castiel was very disappointed with this, or he was until he was dragged to his feet by a hand fisted in his collar. He followed obediently along as he was led to the bedroom, where Dean had been sleeping. It didn’t stink, but it was saturated with the Demon’s scent. For the first time in his life, this was a good thing.

His trench coat pooled on the floor as it was pushed off his shoulders and slid from his wings. Realizing what Dean was doing, Castiel eagerly grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it upward. The Demon was grinning as he helped get it over his head, shucking the fabric from his own wings. Worried he’d just rip it open, Castiel used the opportunity to briskly unbutton his own shirt.

“Considering it’s been pulling fucking teeth until now, didn’t think you’d be so enthusiastic.”

“I’m not overly familiar with any part of this process, any more than I understand why I feel the way that I do about you, but…I enjoy your company. A lot. And the idea of being intimate with you is appealing, which is unusual, so- “

“Taking full advantage, got it.”

Even as he said it Dean was yanking him into another kiss, shoving his shirt off his shoulders so all Castiel had to do was let it slip off his wings. He was pulled the rest of the way to the bed by his belt, then pushed down onto his back.

“Um, aside from generally requiring nudity it’s been some time since I’ve considered the mechanics of love making between two biological males.”

“I think the thesaurus talk actually gets worse when you’re worked up,” Dean mused, snickering. He made quick work of his own boots, shucking the rest of his clothes, dumping everything on the floor before joining him on the bed. He yanked off Castiel’s boots, pushing him back down to the bed when he tried to help, his head hitting the pillows. “You stay. I’m gonna do the work this time, alright? I know what I’m doing, I got the lube.”

“Oh. Okay. Lube?”

“Lubricant. Unlike the ladies, we don’t make our own. I’d still get it anyway, there’s no such thing as too much lube.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.”

Castiel stared numbly at the very naked, very aroused Demon crawling back over him, once he himself was nude. As he watched, Dean leaned over, dragging open the lone drawer in the bedside table, pulling out a jar with a label worn away. When he opened it, he dipped two fingers in to an opaque, slimy substance.

“Where did you acquire that?”

“Made it. The kitchen is a damn chemistry lab. I could ‘a made a bomb if I’d wanted to. Relax, I wouldn’t. Not for you, anyway.”

Castiel had tensed at the word ‘bomb’, but before he could start to relax Dean wrapped a hand covered in warm goo around his cock. His breath hitched, wings twitching, as much at the sight as the sensation. No one besides him had handled his penis before, not since he’d become an Angel. None of the objects of his affection had ever progressed, never mind come this far.

“That’s a good face, right?”

The Angel could only nod.

Dean grinned. “It only gets better, promise.”

“Considering the enthusiasm with which people participate in such activities, I imagined so.”

He was only able to manage this because the hand had left his very sensitive dick, Dean getting more of the lube onto his fingers. But rather than grab Castiel again, he rocked forward, left hand braced on his chest, right hand reaching around. It took a moment, then the Angel’s eyes widened as he realized where those fingers were going.

“Yeah? Then why haven’t you seen what all the fuss was about sooner?”

“How are you able to talk normally while you’re inserting digits in your rectum?”

Dean pulled a face at that. “Okay, first of all, don’t say it that way. Second, I’ve been optimistic about this. I’ve been putting this stuff to use since I made it.”

“Oh. So you’re…”

“Prepped? Mostly, but it makes this part faster if it’s maintained. Part of why I’ll be the catcher this round.”

“Catcher?”

“Pitcher, catcher. Penetrator, receiver.”

“Oh. Um, you would be open to the reversal of rolls?”

“Yeah. Are you? I didn’t figure you for one of those people who insist on being one side or the other.”

“I have no preference at current, no. That might change after I have some experience in the matter.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the hand moving behind the Demon’s back. Was that rude of him?

“Fair enough.”

“Really? You seem to prefer…is there a name for this?”

“Switching,” Dean supplied. “You’re logical. You think things through, you try to be reasonable. It’s refreshing.”

He took his hand away, fingers still glistening. He rocked up on his knees, crawling up higher so he was positioned over Castiel’s hips instead of his thighs. He got a bit more lube on his fingers, spreading it over the Angel’s cock.

“Refreshing,” Castiel echoed, staring, entranced.

Dean chuckled, bending to kiss him tenderly. “You’re fucking adorable, ya know that?”

“I was unaware.” He hesitated, then reached up to gingerly trace a finger over one of Dean’s horns. He felt a trill as the Demon shivered, breath hitching, eyes rolling back a little. Urged on, Castiel stroked the horn’s curve with gentle fingers. They had ridges, bumps, a fascinating texture.

“Oh fuck,” Dean moaned. “You gotta stop that.”

“Why?”

“If you don’t, I’m gonna cum.”

Castiel withdrew his hand. “I was unaware they were such a severe erogenous zone.”

The Demon cracked a smile, rocking forward again. “Yep. We can have fun with that, but not right now. You ready?”

“Considering our current position, I believe I should be asking you that.”

Dean took this as an affirmative, and proceeded to lower himself down. Castiel’s breath caught, eyes going wide, hands clamping down over Dean’s hips as tight heat began to close over his cock. First it was just the tip, then more and more, working its way down.

When Dean finally stopped, he was seated firmly atop the Angel’s cock, panting, swollen lips parted, eyes fully dilated. Then that pretty mouth tugged up in a smile as unsteady fingers reached up to stroke his cheek. He didn’t even think about it, but Dean didn’t seem to mind.

“Beautiful.” The breathed word was drawn from his lips before he could give it thought.

“You’re just saying that because it feels good.”

“No. I think it’s just removing inhibitions,” Castiel murmured, caressing his temple, stroking his hair.

In a surge of boldness, he sat up, returning his grip to Dean’s hips. He tucked in his wings as he did, and before Dean could do more than flail for balance he flipped them over, something the bed was just large enough to accommodate. He felt himself slip out of that wonderful heat when he did this, though, and went to immediately seeking it out again.

“You sure you ain’t done this before?” Dean protested as one knee was pushed up towards his chest, the other thigh hitched out of the way. He seemed delightfully flexible, not terribly but enough this didn’t cause him discomfort. Something that caused an unexpected amount of delight for the Angel.

“Not that I remember. Perhaps I retain some memories I wasn’t aware of.” He groaned as he rediscovered that blissful connection, a sound Dean matched as his head fell back. “I’ve also seen lots of humans, when outdoor fornication was more common.”

Dean started to say something, but it cut off in a drawn-out moan as Castiel rocked his hips back and forth, creating delightful friction. He bent his head down, running the tip of his nose up the side of the Demon’s neck, inhaling deeply. On impulse, be began to kiss and suckle the base of Dean’s neck as he maintained the slow, short thrusting motions. Hands grabbed his shoulders, holding on tight, short nails digging into his skin, which somehow felt good.

“You- you marking me, Cas?” Dean panted when he drew away.

“Why not?” It wasn’t like there was anyone to see. He’d been so uneasy before, avoiding this topic as a whole, and now that he was intertwined with Dean his inhibitions were melting fast. He wanted more, so much more. Dipping to kiss him hungrily he rasped, “Want everything.”

“Everything?” Dean repeated when they parted. “Wanna be more specific?”

“Want to taste you. Feel you. Hear you. Want to make you feel good, see what makes you make sounds.”

He turned his head, leaning up to run the tip of his tongue over the shell of Dean’s ear, catching it between his teeth. The soft gasp and clenching around his cock felt good, but the full-body shudder and plaintive whimper when he languidly licked a horn was all the better. The Angel pulled away after that, pondering.

“I can reach climax twice in one day, if allowed a short recuperation period. Are you aware of your limits?”

“Same,” Dean panted, “Why?”

Rather than answer verbally, Castiel braced a hand above his lover’s head, bending to nuzzle his horns while his free hand began to stroke Dean’s cock. He did try to be slow about it, learning which motions pleased him and which did not. He did have to get some of the lube on that hand so as not to hurt him, but after that it went well. Very well. In moments Dean was whimpering and writhing and bucking below him as both his member and his horns were lavished with attention. Castiel kissed and nuzzled and mouthed the bony outcroppings, only licking them occasionally, flicking his tongue over them, but the results were undeniable.

He was still at it, intent on his work, when Dean went rigid, hands tightening on his shoulders, a strangled cry in his throat as he bucked jerkily into Castiel’s hand. The Angel hesitated, then kept going. From his masturbation sessions, which took place with more regularity than he’d ever admit, he knew it felt better if the stimulation kept going through the orgasm. Well, just because he was highly selective in his partners didn’t mean he had no needs.

Dean’s wings were the first to go limp. His hands slipped from their hold, arms crumpling to the bed. Only then did Castiel sit back a little, peering into his face, head tilted.

“Virgin…my ass,” he panted shakily.

Castiel sighed. “If you will recall I _did_ engage with someone, as much out of obligation as to see what all the fuss was about. I found it lacking.” Not wishing to think of such things right then, he bent to peck his lover’s lips, then went to work on pink nipples. They were lighter than his own, which were more of a dusky shade, and pebbled on the Demon’s chest.

He took his time, lazily rocking his hips, searching for more places to make Dean squirm. By the time he found enough to satisfy his curiosity Dean had recovered enough to become more active. He flipped them back over with a playful growl, then proceeded to execute the most pleasurable attack Castiel had ever endured. Dean performed a search of his own, but it was more efficient, and he kept clenching down over the Angel’s cock, which was very distracting.

This time it was far more drawn out. Castiel couldn’t have said how long it lasted, nor did he care. He and Dean were as intertwined as it was possible to be, if it wasn’t for their wings he wouldn’t have been able to tell where one began and the other ended. How they managed to both be upright for a time like this he had no idea. Dean’s tongue was talented in far more than merely delivering cocky quips, his mouth and hands doing wonderous things. He tried to return the favor, and since the Demon was so enthusiastic in his motions and sounds there was no doubt he was doing _something_ right. They even laughed at one point, giggling like fledglings as they nearly fell off the bed. He hadn’t even known you could laugh during love making.

When he finally realized bliss, it was a truly wondrous thing. Like nothing he’d ever managed on his own before. He couldn’t remember ever having an out of body experience as he trembled and whimpered his lover’s name helplessly. Perhaps he passed out for a moment, he wasn’t altogether sure. But when he focused his eyes next, Dean’s movements were frantic and a bit jerky. He wondered why this was, but before he could ask, or even loosen the grip that had him clinging to the Demon, Dean’s eyes rolled back as he reached his second orgasm that evening.

Castiel smiled sleepily, stroking his face and kissing lazily up his arm as Dean rode it out. He didn’t lie down so much as he collapsed on his side, the Angel rolling over a bit to face him. For a long minute Castiel lay there, staring at the blitzed-out Demon before him. It hit him then, that whatever doubts he might have harbored were evaporated. This beautiful creature cared for him, though why he wasn’t sure. But he did. And Castiel cared for him in turn, more than he had any other being since his human birth. Well, perhaps not his children, but it was hardly in the same manner, thank you.

As Dean began to stir, though, and he didn’t speak, Castiel began to worry. Not about regretting what they’d done, but that perhaps he’d made a mistake. Normally the Demon was a bit more talkative.

Tentatively petting soft hair gone damp with sweat, he asked hesitantly, “Was that…alright?”

Evergreen eyes finally opened more than a slit, staring at him. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

When his heart began to sink, going tight, Dean sighed.

“Yeah, Cas, that was alright. It was more than alright. That’s one thing you _don’t_ gotta worry about, trust me.”

“Oh.” He was quiet a beat, then unable to help it asked, “Then what I did was…correct?”

“You blew my mind twice, Cas. Yeah, I’d say it was correct. Stop worrying, would you?”

With that he grabbed the Angel by the back of his neck and drew him into a slow, lingering, passionate kiss that somehow managed to make his toes curl despite all they’d just done. Castiel’s head was spinning when he pulled away, enough that he didn’t even stiffen when Dean snapped his fingers. Just mumbled, “What was that for?”

“Cleaning us up.”

“Why?”

“So I can do this.”

Dean gently tugged and nudged, guiding Castiel into lying on his stomach. He then lurched upright, sluggishly crawling over until he was perched on the Angel’s lower back. Before Castiel could ask, warm fingers began to brush through the feathers nearest the main bone. Initially Castiel went rigid, unaccustomed to that. It was the one body part he had which Dean had more or less left alone until now. But unlike every other time before when someone had tried to preen him, it felt… _right._ It didn’t feel as though Dean was going against the grain, or ruffling when he should be stroking. By all that was holy it felt good. Amazing. Soothing.

Castiel gradually relaxed, bit by bit, eyes fluttering closed, fists uncurling from where his arms were under the pillow beneath his head, wings going limp under Dean’s capable fingers. The Demon took his time, working his way first over one wing, then the other, stroking the feathers, straightening them, spreading around the oils evenly.

He was unaware he was making any sort of sound until Dean paused halfway through his first wing. Before the Angel could even ask, Dean chuckled. “Are you _purring?”_

Right that moment, he wasn’t even self-conscious enough to stop. Yes, a quiet warbling was drifting up his throat. A happy sound. One an Angel had to be truly content and at-ease to make. He’d only ever made it for food before.

Smiling lips pressed gently to the back of his neck before Dean went back to work. “I thought you were a bird. Turns out you’re a cat.”

Castiel could only smile at that.


	8. Chapter 8

They dozed for some time when Dean had finished with his wings. Castiel wasn’t sure how long. When he woke, it was to the smell of cooking food. He climbed stiffly from the very mussed bed, shuffling first to the bathroom, then to the kitchen.

His lover was scrambling the last of the eggs, slices of bacon already sitting on the two platters that served them as plates. Feeling oddly bold, particularly since they were both still naked, Castiel shuffled up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Dean didn’t stiffen, which delighted him. In fact he set down his pan on a burner that wasn’t hot, since it seemed the eggs were ready, and turned around in his hold to drape his arms over his shoulders, kissing him squarely on the mouth.

“I’m gonna tell you something I never thought I’d tell anyone,” the Demon mused, smirking.

Castiel tilted his head, waiting.

“That? Was totally worth the wait.”

A pleased smile he couldn’t restrain tugged at the Angel’s mouth. It dimmed as something occurred to him, and he asked hesitantly, “Would you…be willing to continue? I know it wouldn’t be conventional, but…”

“It’s the closest to an apple pie life I’m ever gonna get,” Dean reasoned, still smiling. “Just wasn’t sure if you’d wanna keep a Demon like me around.”

“I would like to keep you, if you would like to stay.”

“I’ll stay. So long as you’ll have me.”

Castiel beamed widely, which made Dean’s kiss a bit awkward, but no less enjoyable.

When they parted he asked, “After we refuel you wanna go for round two? We’ve got like half the refractory period of humans. It’s awesome.”

The Angel hesitated, looking around. When his eyes finally landed on a clock, he stiffened and looked to the nearest window. Had their love making and their nap truly taken up what had remained of his shift?

“No, I need to go. Now.”

“Now?” Dean repeated, following him back to the bedroom as he fumbled to grab his clothes, yanking them on. “Can’t you eat first?”

Castiel hesitated, then fumbled for his pants. “I have time to eat and still return within the expected window. But any longer and they will start to wonder if something’s wrong. Any sort of suspicion will be bad. I won’t allow for it.”

Dean grimaced, but he grabbed his underwear before going back to the kitchen. Castiel tried not to rush, but nor did he linger. He enjoyed his lover’s food, and made sure to tell him as much.

The Demon pulled him into a long, lingering kiss before he left, one that made him stumble a bit as he lurched out the door. He hurried through a lap around his route before returning to base, feeling oddly giddy. No wonder other Angels seemed so happy when they found a new lover. He was afraid to label Dean as more than that, but as he sat to review reports and write up his own, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Demon would be willing to be a mate someday.

**~~~BREAK/BREAK\BREAK~~~**

Castiel did not rush back to the cabin. He did that very deliberately. He was no lovesick fledgling. But if he was efficient in his duties, no one could fault him that.

The Angel made himself walk rather than trot to the cabin, keeping his head, reaching up to knock briskly as a warning before opening the door. He closed the door, making it two steps before Dean came to meet him. He’d worried more than he’d wanted to admit, that there was a chance he’d been wrong, that he’d been tricked into letting his guard down, that Dean wouldn’t be here when he returned.

He could actually feel the last of his concerns melting away as the Demon grabbed him by the lapels, yanking them flush, arms wrapping around his neck as he kissed him. Castiel reached up, stroking his fingers through Dean’s hair. It had gotten longer since he’d been here, but he wore it cut short along the sides and back of his head, longer on top. It was still just as soft as it had been in their last encounter.

“How’d it go?” Dean hummed, wings curling around him.

“Smoothly.”

“Anyone suspicious?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Awesome.” He tangled a hand in Castiel’s shirt, backing up, shuffling across the main room.

“Need to get supplies,” the Angel protested, even as he dipped his head to nuzzle his neck. He liked Dean’s scent.

“Practical bastard,” Dean grumbled.

“If I tend to such things now, there will be no distractions later.”

His lover outright groaned at that, but his wings returned to their position at his back.

The Angel did want to stay. He _really_ wanted to stay, but he also wanted to enjoy his time with Dean without distraction. There might still be some, their track record wasn’t spectacular as of late, but he could try.

Dean kissed him one last time, then stepped back. Castiel swayed a little, watching as the Demon went to pick up a piece of paper from the table. “I added a few things to it. Might need to go to a different store for something.”

Castiel frowned, going over the list. Most was food related, as before. Then he reached the last item. “Do I need to go to an automotive store?”

The Demon gave him an all too patient look. “You can, or you can go to a sex shop. Where they’ve got stuff special made.”

Castiel blinked. Well, that would make sense. “You prefer modern lubricants to the one you made?”

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, it works just fine, but this newer stuff is better. Get water-based if you can.”

The Angel inclined his head, turning back to the door, list in hand.

He began at the list’s top and worked his way down, getting alcohol, meat, vegetables, bread, among other items meant for consumption. He dropped off everything, then set about finding a shop that carried more…erotic merchandise. There was one, tucked away but still easy to access, with a sign that wasn’t terribly obvious, the windows tinted. Subtle, but very present, which suited the human’s current opinion of sex. It varied a bit, fluctuating as time went on, but there were always people across the spectrum. People who reveled in it as openly as was safe, to those with iron-like restraint. He would call it nun-like restraint, but he’d encountered one too many of those with the title with thoughts and experiences that had the capacity to make anyone blush.

The store’s interior was clean, well kept and well lit, with an easy to navigate layout. He nodded to the clerk, who appeared to be working over a textbook and flash cards, then set about looking for what Dean had requested. He found the lube area easily enough, but he hadn’t anticipated there would be such…variety. It occurred to him, as he stared at over two dozen different bottles and tubes, that he really should have asked for specifics. At least water-based narrowed things down a little, but not over much. There was flavored lube, lube that would warm once applied, lube that would become chilled once applied, ‘natural’, even organic.

After no small amount of deliberation, the Angel selected a bottle of what looked to be of the more normal variety. He’d never admit he’d been reduced to prodding at some of these containers with his grace, trying to find one that was the most slippery. This one met that criteria.

He didn’t scurry to the register so much as he meandered, curious now. Humans had come a long way from crafting phallic devices of clay and tying cloth around manacles, he had to say. He did appreciate how it had become an industry, in that standards and safety could be maintained. It explained the decreasing number of souls who had come to Heaven by more erotic means, though they did still happen.

Wondering if this was a thing couples did these days, wander sex shops, Castiel paid for his lone item and beat a quick retreat back to the cabin. As much for safety as to return to what he hoped to be more love making. He did ask when he was inside, making Dean grin.

“Yeah. It’s a thing. Keeps things exciting, ya know? Think you’d wanna do that some time?”

“Perhaps. Though I feel I should get a better handle on the basics before I…explore.”

Dean, who was making taquitos, shrugged and went back to his work. Guacamole and other delights most humans associated with South America were already on the table. Castiel dropped the lube in the bedroom, then went to help himself. He was crunching on a very loaded down chip when Dean set the last of the dishes on the table, plopping down across from him.

They were cleaning up, having devoured just about everything, when Castiel decided now was as good a time as any. It was something that had been nagging at him, but he’d kept smothered. Reluctantly he decided he had best get it sorted out now, before he was any deeper.

Staring down at the pan he was drying, Castiel asked slowly, “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Why were you damned?”

The Demon said nothing at first, hands pausing only briefly before he set the last plate/platter on the drying rag and turning off the water. He picked up another towel, then began to slowly help dry them. A long minute passed before he said simply, “I made a deal.”

Castiel had gathered that much. “What sort of deal? Did you know what you were doing?”

Dean snorted. “By the time it was sealed, yeah. I didn’t care. I didn’t regret it. Still don’t, I guess.”

Only vaguely aware his own hands had stopped their work, Castiel stared at him. “Why not?”

His lover lifted his head, giving him a sad smile. “Because I’m a sentimental sap who got taken for a fucking fool.”

“You’re hardly a fool.”

“Not as much now as I was then,” he admitted, going back to work, if slowly. “Don’t ask me about dates, but I was born around the time one of those inquisitions was picking up steam. I was the first son of a peasant, who was the son of a peasant, and so on. I was born dirt, I was always gonna be dirt, and if I had any kids they were gonna be dirt too. I had two brothers and a sister. Mom died having the last of ‘em. Dad was a drunk, had to hide any coin we managed to get together. It only got worse as they started cracking down on us. Dad bolted, left us in this crap town with the questioners coming through. I don’t remember much, but I remember that real clear. Enough people knew what I was, what my sister was, on top of us being protestant. No way we were getting out alive and in one piece.”

Castiel’s chest was already tight, able to see where this was going. Desperate people did desperate things, be they human, monster, or something else. Worse, it sounded like Dean was one of those poor souls who’d sold themselves to Hell for something good, rather than selfishness or greed.

“I was nineteen, Sammy was seventeen. Charlotte was sixteen, protestant, had bright red hair, and she liked ladies. Adam was only ten, not that they’d care. There was one shot we had, at getting out. Just get across a river and we could make a break for a big city with ships going far away. It’d be tough, we’d have to stow away, but it was a shot. So I found a crossroads. I made a deal, said that motherfucker could have my soul if he could guarantee safe passage for them.

“We made it across the river, he magicked us there, and made sure we had supplies enough to get us on a ship all proper, like we belonged and were going to a rich uncle. Unfortunately it worked too good. Bandits thought we’d be easy pickings. Had to kill all four of ‘em, but one of them got in a lucky hit before he went down. I made it maybe a mile or two before I noticed.”

Turning to stare at the Angel, eyes oddly blank, he asked, “Did ya know they send out the hellhounds if they know you’re about to die? Even if it’s natural, even if you have time left? Only reason they didn’t see it is because I talked them into letting me rest, that I’d catch up. Didn’t know until I was already dead my head was bleeding, on the inside. That’s what did me in. That and the fucking hounds.”

Stalking away from the sink, Dean got one of the large alcohol bottles down from its place atop the fridge and twisted off the cap. He leaned against the counter, taking a long draft and wiping his mouth on his wrist. He wasn’t looking at the Angel now, avoiding his eyes.

“When I got down there I asked him just what he thought he was doing. The deal was ten years, not ten days. He said ‘accidents happen’. Some shit about he can’t control everything. I called him on his bullshit, and he sent me down anyway. Five months later, Sam shows up. Apparently that fucker let a few more accidents happen. They made it to the ship. They made it to a trading post where they could go someplace to start over, but by then things had run out. Sam found a place, laid out a plan, then found a crossroad. He knew what I’d done, he always was smart. He told me later he’d gone back alone to find me. Found what was left of me. He’s too smart to be an idiot, but he still made another deal. It was the same Demon, too. Said if he could guarantee all three of them made it safe and intact, he’d get his soul. They made it, but there was a riot in a market a few days after Sam had found work and a roof to live under. He got caught in it. Couldn’t get out fast enough. Someone pushed him into the town well. We couldn’t swim, and no one found him fast enough.”

He took another, equally long draft before Castiel stepped forward, gently taking the bottle and screwing on the cap.

“They made it to Heaven, you know,” Dean added, cracking a faint smile. “Adam. Charlie. She preferred that name, Charlie. Liked to wear her hair short, dress as a boy. Made it easier, especially after we were gone. Those birdies you don’t like? They told us where they were, tracked ‘em down. Adam’s in his Heaven, Charlie’s in your archive division.”

Castiel blinked. “Charlie?” he repeated. “The Charlie with long red hair who ensures our systems are more advanced than the human’s?”

A decidedly proud smile graced his lover’s face. “That’s her.”

“But she’s never mentioned you.”

“Good. She shouldn’t.” Dean hesitated, then admitted, “I’d like to see her, someday. When it’s safe. I think she was tracking us down, but we had a birdie warn her off. She was safer that way.”

“Of course.” He hesitated a moment, then asked, “What became of the Demon who made your deals?”

Dean gave him a toothy grin, eyes flicking to black. “Got to have fun with him on my rack. Me and Sam took turns, nice and slow, once we were Knights. It was awesome.” Eyes returning to green he added, “Oh, and Zachariah? He was on one of those rescue missions when we first got to Hell. Where you’d get wrongfully damned souls out. Me and Sam were in a batch he let slip in exchange for some favor or another. That’s why I was on the field that day, when you and him were working together.”

Castiel took a moment to digest that, then decided, “It sounds as though you’ve paid your penance, and gotten your revenge.”

“Yeah. And now we’re ready to retire. Or we would be, if we could. Only Princes of Hell get to do that, lucky fuckers.”

“Unless you join the Angels.”

“Unless we join the Angels,” Dean sighed. He eyed Castiel, absently draping his arms over his shoulders. “Ya know, I hear the perks are good. Nice and boring and peaceful. Plus, I’d get to keep you around. Or I guess you’d be the one keeping me. Think they’d stand for that?”

“I think it can be arranged.” The tips of their noses brushed against each other, a surge of boldness having Castiel lean forward just enough to kiss him lightly. “If not, I have plenty of favors I can call in. Including Gabriel.”

Dean helped himself to another slow kiss before asking, “They gonna wanna torture me any? For funsies?”

“No. You will be subject to truth spells and serums, but nothing worse.” He would have their wings on his wall if they tried.

They were kissing again when Dean pulled away abruptly. “Wait, you don’t live in the barracks, do you? ‘Cause that’s gonna get real tight, real fast.”

Castiel blinked at him owlishly. Angels had quarters, of course, and with rank and promotions came larger and more lavish options. Many had apartments or houses after the first century or so. “I did. I didn’t spend much of my leave time in Heaven. But after I saved my last commander’s life they gave me a house. I don’t use it much. Gabriel has a key so he can use an extra kitchen if need be. It would likely be in disrepair by now, if cleaners didn’t come by.”

“Figures,” Dean sighed, shaking his head. “Well, at least it’ll be house arrest in an actual house.”

“Finally, a good reason to have the cursed thing,” Castiel grumbled. He did splurge, on occasion, but generally he avoided extravagance. It just seemed so wasteful. Not to mention it was trouble, having people come by constantly to maintain it. If he used his credits more often he might have offloaded it by now.

“Does it have a bed?” Dean was asking, tugging him slowly towards the bedroom, kissing him soundly.

Castiel had to wait until he was let up for air to answer. “Yes. A large one. I think you’ll like it.”

His lover beamed, then began pushing at his trench coat as he coaxed them through the doorway. After nearly falling over they gave up, and pulled away from each other long enough to make quick work of their clothes. Castiel hesitated after that, only to be pushed down on his back as he had been last time.

“I thought our roles would be, um, reversed this time,” he mentioned, watching Dean climb over his legs, briskly breaking the seal on the lube bottle.

“Yep. But this’ll be easier.”

Making a mental note to have Dean on _his_ back next time, Castiel used a bit of angelic power to clean himself up where he knew Dean would be going. He wasn’t sure about prepping, but he did want himself clean, and he assumed that was how Dean had done it last time. It was one thing he didn’t envy humans, the need to do such a thing manually.

As he watched, propped up on his elbows, Dean got some of the clear substance on his fingers. He coated two digits to the knuckle, then to the Angel’s surprise, dipped his head to lightly lick the tip of his cock. It was already half hard and working its way to full attention, but the light flick of a hot tongue made him gasp outright.

The cocky grin this got him almost made him want to whimper. He’d grown fond of that smile. Particularly after the time he’d managed to remove it thoroughly, forcing his lover to drop it to cry out.

“This has been on my to-do list for a while, and this ain’t exactly fun, especially the first time. It’ll distract you.”

Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to argue. He’d come to find Dean’s tongue was something of a marvel, and it didn’t disappoint. He wasn’t fully erect when the Demon began working his way slowly down his cock, but seeing his own member disappear between those full lips finished the job. Something Dean didn’t miss, considering he pulled off to grin up at him when he was done.

“Feel good, Cas?”

Feeling his face heat, the Angel informed him, “I think you know the answer to that.”

The Demon only chuckled, dipping back down to work.

Castiel’s eyes fluttered closed, only to snap wide again when he felt a fingertip coated in lube stroke his pucker.

“Just relax,” Dean muttered, tongue circling his cock’s head. “Try not to tense up, it’ll help.”

He did try, but it took more doing than he’d anticipated. At least Dean was patient with him, prodding him along slowly rather than just forcing his fingers in. He went nice and slow, working a single finger in and out bit by bit. He only added a second when Castiel was relaxed, and didn’t feel at all discomforted by the procedure. How he picked up on this the Angel wasn’t sure, but he was glad of it.

Though Castiel was very aware this was taking a good deal longer than last time, Dean didn’t seem to object. He didn’t seem to get impatient, if anything he got more creative, teasing with his mouth, kissing and nipping his way up and down the more sensitive skin on the inside of Castiel’s thighs. He even worked on his balls a bit, which while surprising was still enjoyable.

Right then, even more so than before, Castiel realized just what all he’d been missing. It had either been himself, who’s only ideas came from what he saw humans try, or foggy memories from a lesbian wife. From what he could dredge up with some degree of clarity, they’d managed by doing the bare minimum. Half the process had been separate, with them tending themselves mostly and then coming together for the second half. The half that was required if you were to produce the expected heirs.

It was a realization Castiel nearly had sucked out through his cock. Dean had been sucking through most of this when his mouth was on his dick, but all of a sudden he _sucked,_ cheeks hollowing as he slowly drew off Castiel’s member. The Angel’s eyes rolled back a little, one hand fumbling and fisting in Dean’s hair. It stayed there for a moment, then abruptly he shifted his grip, grasping one of Dean’s horns. This got a moan from the Demon, which scent a delightful cacophony of vibrations through the member still in his mouth.

Pulling off with a pop, Dean groaned, “Hold on there, babe, and I’ll go as long as you want.”

“I’ll remember that. For next time,” Castiel panted.

“Next time. I like that.”

“Would you kindly resume?”

Snickering, the Demon complied. He obligingly kept at it until three fingers were almost comfortable inside him, even when they were scissored open. At that point he pulled away again, looking up at the Angel with glistening, swollen lips. “How you holding up, Cas?”

“I would like you to proceed.”

He lightly kissed the tip of Castiel’s throbbing cock, then sat back so he could crawl over him. The Angel stared up at him, a little anxious for all he had no reservations about what they were doing. He’d just never been the…what had Dean called it? Catcher? It was a remarkably vulnerable position. And Dean had gladly taken it for him not a day ago.

One leg was draped over Dean’s shoulder, then the other. He scooted forward a little more, then reached for the bottle again. Castiel watched as he got more of the lubricant on his hand, giving his own cock a brisk bit of attention before his free, clean hand braced on the bed by his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t this be easier if I were, um, in a different position?” Now that he was in it himself, this seemed a bit awkward. Perhaps if he was on hands and knees?

“Maybe. But I wanna see your face.”

He couldn’t find an argument to that. He wanted to see Dean’s face too. What’s more, before he could think of anything else to say his breath hitched. Something hard and warm was pressing to his pucker, which was slippery in its own right by this point. Abruptly he reached up, grabbing Dean’s shoulder, clinging to him.

“Relax,” the Demon murmured, leaning up a bit to gently peck his lips.

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a gasp. His mind went blank as Dean began to press into him, moving slow and steady. At first it was still rather uncomfortable, but there was no pain. Dean’s diligent preparation had ensured that much. But once the head of his cock was inside, the shaft following suit…it was a sensation he had honestly never experienced before. What’s more, the longer it went on, the less uncomfortable it felt.

Once he was all the way in Dean pulled most of the way out again, then began to rock forward, still maintaining the slow pace. He did this twice more before Castiel asked haltingly, “Could you, um, move a bit, ahhhh, faster?”

Dean beamed, and in a maneuver that startled the Angel, snapped his hips forward sharply.

The sound that left Castiel’s mouth was one he hoped would never be heard by anyone else, an odd vocalization somewhere between a squawk and a whimper. His face went hot when Dean barked a chuckle, but the Demon did pause to lean up, kissing the tip of his nose in an oddly tender gesture. Castiel found he could only blink stupidly up at him.

“I’ll add that to the ‘just between us’ column. How about I work my way up to that?”

The Angel could only nod. Considering Dean was considered one of the most ruthless of Alistair’s apprentices, he was an incredibly tender lover. It had been one thing before, when he’d been astride the Angel and impaling himself, but this felt…different. Once the discomfort faded Castiel decided it was just as pleasurable as the other position, though he did feel a little more vulnerable with his legs over Dean’s shoulders.

Though Dean did occasionally give a sharp thrust, for the most part he settled into a steady rhythm that made the Angel moan. He even wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking it in tandem to his thrusts. Castiel was staring blearily up at him, panting, when Dean’s free hand moved to his shoulder, sliding up his arm until he reached his palm, lacing their fingers together. Castiel’s left hand still clung to his shoulder, but with his right he gladly clutched his lover’s hand. It struck him as an oddly tender gesture.

The process wasn’t rushed, Dean seemed content to take his time, and Castiel had no complaints. Better still, the longer it went on the more comfortable he got. When he did feel an orgasm in the offing, he abruptly decided to try postponing it a bit more.

Dean paused as he sat up, letting go of his hand. He opened his mouth, probably to ask, but he only grunted as Castiel set about flipping them over. Dean did slide out of him, but the Demon only smiled broadly as he was pushed onto his back, Castiel crawling over him. He mimicked the position he’d had at the start last time, sitting astride his lover’s hips, one hand bracing on his chest while the other reached back to get his cock back inside him.

“You have no idea how hot this is.”

Castiel moaned as he settled himself, feeling his ass cheeks rest on Dean’s groin as he took his lover to the hilt. “I have some idea. I rather enjoyed the view as well as the sensation. I also see the appeal of…” he had to pause, moaning as he tried lifting himself up and down with very pleasurable results. “….of being in this position.”

Dean reached up, grasping his hand and kissing the inside of his wrist. “You wanna fuck yourself on my cock, babe?”

The Angel blushed, which just made his lover smile. “Must you say things like that?”

“Aww, but you’re adorable when you blush.”

“If you think I won’t finish myself off without your aid- “

“You don’t have to be cruel,” Dean interjected, pouting even though his dick was still firmly seated inside the Angel. “It’s part of my appeal, and you know it.”

“Hardly,” Castiel grumbled, for all he went back to work. Crude commentary aside, he was very much enjoying what they were doing. This new position allowed the member inside him to hit a different variety of nerves.

This time they didn’t move around quite so much. Castiel was still atop the Demon when he reached climax, after which he was dumped onto his back once more. He was still whimpering in the aftershocks as Dean thrust roughly into him, finding his own orgasm shortly thereafter. Castiel was coming around, pulling himself back together, when Dean collapsed on top of him.

The Angel grunted at his weight, but didn’t protest. It was all spread out anyway, and oddly comfortable in a way. Comforting.

His eyes were closed, though he didn’t think he was drained enough to doze this time, when he felt fingers begin to preen his feathers. He smiled, not opening his eyes, turning to nuzzle behind his lover’s ear and lightly kiss the shell of it. “You enjoy that?” he murmured.

“Yeah. Your wings are beautiful. Didn’t think they’d be so soft.”

Castiel smiled, sluggishly wrapping his arms around the Demon. He did try to return the favor, stroking the bones of Dean’s wings, until he was asked to stop. Apparently it didn’t have the same effect. It wasn’t as enjoyable, and when the bones were handled it was more erotic than soothing.


	9. Chapter 9

This set the rhythm for what remained of Dean’s time in the cabin. Castiel did try to stay vigilant, he still trained, still drew up reports, still did his patrol route, but he didn’t do it as often as he once had. He left out the evolution of their relationship in the few messages he sent to Gabriel, which just provided the requested updates on any new information and Dean’s healing progress.

The Angel had known sex was pleasurable, why else would so many be so eager to engage in it? He’d also known there was a great deal of creativity implemented over the years by those who wanted to keep it interesting. But never had he thought he’d engage in any of it. They never wandered a sex shop, Dean never left the cabin, but as a lover the Demon was a very…enthusiastic. They used the bed, the couch, the kitchen table, even the chairs. A few times the Angel was subject to a surprise blowjob, as Dean was fond of calling oral sex. Castiel very much enjoyed receiving them, and an experiment of his own proved they were oddly enjoyable to deliver. It wasn’t so much the process, though. His jaw was sore when he was done, and he felt very sloppy, but he very much enjoyed making Dean squirm, making him utter such sounds, making him shout when his orgasm came, seeing the heat in his eyes as the Demon stared down at him. The same could be said for what Dean called ‘eating him out’. When he was giving he could take it or leave it, the true enjoyment came from the pleasure he could elicit.

In the end it was roughly two months after Castiel had stumbled upon the Demon that he was recovered, both in body and power. He still had the scars, after wounds like that he always would. There were a few others, from equally damaging weapons, both those would always be his most impressive. His power was returning, too. Like blood or magic it was constantly regenerating, but it had been so damaged and depleted it took far longer than usual. When he noticed, Castiel was both intrigued and dismayed to find he wasn’t afraid of him. A Knight of Hell, one of the strongest, was nearing full strength once more and he genuinely had no fear of him. He was…aroused. Why? It seemed illogical, but still it happened. For reasons he wasn’t sure of, when they both noticed Dean’s power was returning to what it ought to be when you were a Knight of Hell, the first thing he did was test the durability of the coffee table in the middle of a Dr. Sexy episode. They broke the coffee table about halfway through, which just seemed to make them both all the hotter. Castiel had still hesitated, worried he’d harmed his lover, just to have Dean growl in very demonic tones, “Don’t you dare fucking stop.” His beautiful, powerful Demon was still cocky as ever, even when he was the one playing catcher.

Dean still cooked. Castiel still fetched groceries, sometimes bringing a pizza or something else he didn’t like to make. They still watched shows and movies. But when they were on the couch they were always touching, sometimes Dean would be draped over him, sometimes they were just holding hands, or one would have a wing draped over the other. They talked, they bickered, Dean even taught him how to play a few card games. Though the last one mostly seemed to be an excuse to lure him into rounds of strip poker that inevitably ended in love making.

When the day came Castiel realized Dean was fully recovered, he found himself disappointed. He’d known it couldn’t last, in the beginning he’d been counting down the days. And yet now the idea of taking Dean to Heaven, having him around other Angels who would as soon as stab him as look at him, having to share his company…he didn’t like it.

Castiel didn’t even know his wings were drooping until Dean asked him about it. The Angel didn’t answer, but somehow he didn’t have to. Dean just gave him a sad smile, draping his arms around his shoulders and kissing him slowly.

“One more day,” he murmured when he pulled away, resting their foreheads together. “Tell Gabriel, and we’ll have one more day.”

“I don’t think you will enjoy being contained for ten human years,” Castiel mumbled.

Demonic wings curled around him, fingers stroking his hair as Dean kissed him again. “I’m not exactly looking forward to it, but we’re immortal, remember? Ten years ‘ll be a drop in the bucket when you look back. Besides, when they let me out we can go on a world tour and call it a honeymoon. I’ll have ten years to make a list of all the shit I’ll wanna do with you. Another for all the food I want to make sure you try, and third for all the places I wanna fuck you.”

Castiel couldn’t help but smile at that. “You’re sure you won’t tire of me by then?”

“Doubt it.” After another kiss he asked, “You got the basic amenities in Heaven, right?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I’m gonna have ten years to catch up on a lot of movies, shows, and books. Plus try all the recipes I want. It’ll be like a ten-year vacation. Don’t worry about it.”

“You sound as though you’re looking forward to it.”

“Considering the price is helping you guys go after every son of a bitch who tried stabbing me in the back, I kinda am.”

“You’re not saying that to spare my feelings?”

“Nah. You’re cute when you’re worried.”

Castiel wasn’t sure what to make of that, not that he got the chance to ask. He was trying to compose a proper inquiry when Dean uncurled his wings, hands trailing down the Angel’s torso as he sank to his knees, undoing his belt. His concerns were sucked out through his cock in short order, both hands grasping the Demon’s horns. He’d found out last week that, if handled properly with enough persistence, he could make Dean orgasm just by touching them.

Later, when he sat at his desk staring at the message he’d written to Gabriel, Castiel had a brief moment where he thought about burning it. Waiting a little longer. Then he shook his head, folding and sealing it for transport. This was his duty. He had never neglected his duty. Questioned orders, second guessed superiors, but his core mission? Never. Besides, Dean seemed genuinely at peace with things, with what would happen. Castiel felt he could read his lover well enough to know if he lied or not by now.

When Samandriel came, he was given the reports as well as one last special message for Gabriel. Before he went out on patrol next, the young Angel came back with a package for him. Inside were a confidential set of orders, a time and location for him to be at with the ‘captured Knight of Hell’. There was also a set of the handcuffs that were carved with spells and sigils, the strongest available. Castiel didn’t need to be told they were for Dean, and that he’d be expected to be wearing them when Castiel delivered him. Next to the official orders was a personal letter from Gabriel, promising he was making the necessary arrangements. Castiel could return to Heaven during his next off-duty shift, and by then Dean should be on house arrest. He was also making arrangements for Sam to visit. Something about calling in a favor and pleading good behavior. Castiel decided he would keep that bit of information quiet, so Dean would be surprised.

Castiel wasn’t sure what made him do it. But before he went on duty the Angel spent a long time standing in their armory, staring at the walls and shelves. He knew Dean had his second blade, and he still carried the brass knuckles in his trench coat pockets. But he’d heard what had happened when Sam had first been caught, the attempts on his life. More than one close call had happened before a pissed off Gabriel had announced that the Demon was his mate. Things had stopped after that. Targeting a mate was serious business in itself, but to target the mate of an Archangel was suicidal stupidity.

Dean would not have that protection, even if Gabriel was vouching for him. Castiel couldn’t bring himself to hand over his lover chained and unarmed. So he selected one of the newer weapons from the rack, staring at it before deciding it would do. Gabriel could always arrange for its return once Dean was safe in his home.

The Demon was waiting for him when he came, grabbing him by the lapels and pulling him into a very sensual kiss the moment the door was shut.

He was running a hand through his hair, the other starting to unbutton the Angel’s shirt when he pulled away enough to grin at him. “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

“Both.”

That made Dean pause, pulling away again. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, I’m always happy to see you.”

The Demon scowled. “The gun, Cas.”

Wordlessly Castiel reached into his pockets. He withdrew the automatic pistol with one hand, the handcuffs with the other. “I am required to use these when I bring you to the gate. But I would feel more comfortable if you were armed. Many Angels don’t like Demons being brought to Heaven, even as prisoners.”

Dean took a step back, picking up the gun. He tested its weight, pulled back the slide to check the chamber, then checked the clip. There was one in the chamber, plus the fully loaded clip. Every single bullet was fashioned of a melted blade. Castiel knew all too well that many of his own people would want him drawn and quartered for voluntarily putting such a weapon in the hands of a Knight of Hell, but he also knew firearms were Dean’s most proficient weapon. It would also be unexpected, smaller and easier to hide than a blade.

Slowly, evergreen eyes lifted to stare at him as a palm pressed to the Demon’s cheek. “You’re really giving this to me?”

“Temporarily, yes. Gabriel will return it later.” He stroked a cheekbone with his thumb, adding, “Be careful. He will take all precautions but there are many who would rather you be dead, regardless of the information you can provide.”

Dean stared at him for another minute, then turned away to set the gun down on the table. He stepped forward, wrapping both arms around the Angel and holding him tight. Castiel returned the embrace, a little surprised but not at all displeased. Dean was better with actions than words, he knew. He’d assumed it was part of his ravenous sexual appetite, it being easier to engage in intercourse than verbally express affection.

“Cas?” he mumbled at last.

“Yes?”

“I…you know I…I ain’t good at this shit, but….” His hands fisted in Castiel’s coat. “I….”

Perhaps the Angel still wouldn’t have understood, but the strained way he said the words, the way his voice broke at the end…he knew. He just knew. He drew away just enough to cup Dean’s face in his hands, taking in his expression. He kissed him slowly, murmuring, “I love you too.”

The look of utter relief on Dean’s face confirmed he’d guessed right. It was followed by a solid blush that actually started to blot out his freckles. “Oh, you…I mean I kinda guessed since I’m used to Angels being like robots but…” He cleared his throat, “Okay, awesome.”

Smiling fondly, Castiel drew him into a kiss. He’d become very proficient at this, making it long and slow and sweet. To his delight he even made the Demon whimper.

He was still kissing his beloved, and Dean was starting to melt, when a pulse came through Angel radio.

Castiel froze, going very still. At first it was just a sensation, raw panic. Then came a broadband blast that went to every Angel in the area.

_“Can anyone hear us? We need reinforcements! As soon as possible, I repeat, we need reinforcements!”_ Hannah shouted. _“The gate is under attack. Thirteen Demons are assaulting our base gates. Please, whoever can be spared, please come!”_

“Hey, Cas, you in there?” Dean was asking, patting his cheek.

The Angel blinked, realizing he’d gone still, his face blank. He jerked back, fumbling to palm his blade in one hand and putting on one of the brass knuckles with the other. The second he thrust at Dean, saying, “My base is under attack. Hannah only has three others with her right now, and she says there’s thirteen of them.”

“Thirteen what?” Dean demanded.

Castiel grabbed the gun, offering it grip-first to him. “Demons. They need all the help they can get.”

Dean stared at him. “You serious? They’ll think I’m one of ‘em.”

“I don’t care. You’re fit to fight and you’re stronger than anyone else in my squadron. I’ll just take you to the gate after this. Now come on.”

The Demon grabbed the gun, taking the knuckles as Castiel dragged him out the door. Gripping his shoulder, Castiel teleported them to the gate. He made sure to land outside it, facing the warded border, hoping to come up behind the attacking force.

“Damn it,” Dean muttered, stalking forward.

Castiel barely heard him. His attention was on the Demon who had Hannah by the throat, raising a blade she’d likely stolen from the female Angel. Hannah looked worse for wear, one eye swollen shut, a cut above it bleeding. She was raising one hand to ward off the blow, not that it would do her any good.

Right before one of his shrewdest lieutenants got stabbed, Castiel rammed his blade between the Demon’s shoulders. She jerked, eyes wide as her soul flickered. He wrenched his blade free, shoving her aside.

“Are you alright?” he asked as Hannah collapsed, coughing.

“Yes, sir,” she croaked, reaching over to reclaim her weapon.

Satisfied, he turned to the next Demon who was winning against another of his squadron. He was locking blades with them when he heard the first gunshot. He was faintly aware of Hannah gasping, but never took his eyes off his opponent.

From that point on he moved more on instinct than awareness, countless years of battle experience taking the fore. When one Demon fell he moved on to the next, moving to put his back to the base gates, putting himself between his wounded soldiers and the attacking Demons. One by one they fell, slain by blade, the ones who required more effort were marked by the brass knuckles. He moved with brisk, deadly efficiency, making quick work of them.

Castiel was aware of the gunshots, though they only sounded a few times. What glimpses he got of Dean were mostly of his lover disemboweling his fellow Demons, only bothering to shoot one when neither of them could get there in time to save the Angel being attacked. A few times they got close, Castiel sliding sideways so Dean could get a clear shot at the Demon trying to behead Kelvin, Dean ducking so the Seraph could ram his blade point first into the mouth of one trying to come up behind them. Later he’d appreciate the beauty of it.

In impressively short order the battle was over, only one enemy Demon left standing. Castiel faced them, gripping his bloodied blade but not approaching. Dean had the barrel of his pistol placed on the underside of their jaw, the Demon staring at him with narrowed eyes, hands raised.

“Traitor,” they were hissing, lip curling in disgust, glaring at the Knight through black eyes. “Since when do you fight on the side of the Angels?”

In a tone that dripped with contempt, Dean mused, “This from the guy who likes to have fun with the innocent souls that end up in Hell. You’re the dick here, Duke, not me.”

With that, he pulled the trigger. It was an interesting thing, seeing the top of a Demon’s skull explode even as his soul flickered. Castiel’s lips twitched when his lover turned around, a self-satisfied expression on his face.

What traces of amusement he felt vanished as he saw Hannah start to approach from Dean’s left, two more doing the same from other sides. Each were armed, each were raising their blades. Dean noticed, he couldn’t not, but he didn’t raise his own weapon.

In a heartbeat Castiel repositioned himself, putting his back to Dean and backing closer to him until he had all three in his sightline. “Stand down,” he ordered, tone hard.

They stopped their approach, two exchanging surprised looks as Hannah protested, “Commander, he’s a Demon. A Knight of Hell. We can’t allow him to- “

“You will stand down,” Castiel repeated, a little louder this time. He felt his wings spread unconsciously, even as he raised his own weapon, grace flaring in his eyes.

What members of his squadron that had come to aid in the battle, most of them now, all stared at him with some mix of horror and dismay.

“Commander,” Hannah protested. “What is this?”

“You will not harm him. You will not attack him. Understood?”

“But- “

“Understood?”

One by one, each of his squadron diverted their gaze, lowering their weapons. They didn’t relax, but they weren’t going to disobey him. Even if they didn’t agree with him.

Again it was Hannah, the most outspoken of his squadron, who asked carefully, “May I ask why, Commander?”

“Why did he help us?” another asked, sounding suspicious.

“What, I’m gonna let Cas have all the fun?”

“Quiet,” Castiel hissed.

“Don’t speak to the commander in such a fashion,” Hannah protested, bristling. She always was a stickler for protocol. It could be problematic at times.

“Mate’s privilege.”

Castiel froze, along with every other member of his squadron. He half turned, staring at the Demon, feeling the grace leave his eyes. Dean wandered forward, cocky smile on his pretty lips, no doubt enjoying keeping the Angels off kilter.

“Mate?” Hannah blurted, dismayed. “You are mate to the commander?”

“When was this decided?” Castiel whispered, staring at him.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Any objections?” he whispered back.

“No.” He still felt stunned, but he was hardly upset. Slowly, a wide smile began to crawl up his face. One he had no control over whatsoever.

He was still wearing what was probably a loopy grin as Dean snapped his fingers, then shoved his gun into an inner coat pocket before fishing around Castiel’s trench coat. He removed the handcuffs, the cuffs themselves separated by about a foot of sigil-laden chain, and proceeded to close them over his own wrists. Though Castiel was the only one close enough to notice that the one over his right wrist didn’t quite click closed.

Holding up his bound hands, he asked, “Feel better?”

“So he’s your…prisoner?” Kelvin asked skeptically.

“Yes. I was in the process of transporting him to the gate for pickup when I received Hannah’s call. He will be providing valuable information for us.” He meant to sound serious, but it was difficult to do when you couldn’t stop smiling. Clearing his throat, he continued, “Hannah, you and the other injured report to the infirmary. Everyone else, back to patrol. Those on the more distant borders will take the place of those posted on this gate. Dismissed.”

Before anyone else could ask questions, he grabbed Dean’s shoulder and teleported them to a parking lot. The one outside the park where the nearest gate to Heaven resided. Once they landed, Dean turned to him, a sheepish look on his face.

“Sorry to spring it on you like that.”

“Were you serious, or did you just do it to enjoy their reactions?”

“No, I was serious. Are you okay with that?”

“It’s not something I expected you to want,” Castiel admitted, shuffling his feet a little. “As I understand it Demons don’t often take mates.”

“Not often,” Dean admitted. “But Angels do.”

“We do.”

The Demon was silent a minute, then admitted slowly, “Ya know, at first I just thought it’d be fun. I mean you’re hot, you’re adorkable, and you were the only one around so I figured ‘what the hell’? Then when you were oblivious I got frustrated so I kept trying. By the time you _finally_ responded I was…invested.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed, something that felt suspiciously like pain blooming in his chest. “Your intentions were merely for diversion?”

“At first,” Dean admitted, scuffing a foot on the asphalt. “But not for a while. Not now. Look, I never wanted a mate, alright? Never liked the idea of being tied down. But the idea of never seeing you again is…it’s fucking unbearable, alright? And the idea of someone else hurting you or kissing you pisses me off. I like fucking you, I like talking with you, hell I like just drinking a beer and watching a movie with you. I ain’t any good at this, but even I know when it’s time to lock someone down.”

It was hardly a confession like the human movies, or like the ones in their romance novels. But this was Dean. For him, it was as romantic as he got verbally. What’s more, it was genuine.

“Having a mate was never something I considered for myself, either,” Castiel admitted. “But then I’ve never loved anyone.”

When Dean finally looked at him instead of the asphalt, he leaned in to peck his lips, smiling as he pulled away.

“If you wish we can discuss semantics, but later. We’re expected.”

Dean nodded mutely, following the Angel into the playground. When they reached the sandbox, the guards sitting on the swings rose, coming over to etch in the sigils into the sand. Castiel watched them work, one wing curling around Dean defensively. Just in case.

He watched as the sigils began to glow, the guards stepping back. He expected this. He also expected Gabriel as he stepped out of the light. What he didn’t expect was the second, much taller person who stepped out with him. He heard Dean’s breath hitch, but even as Castiel registered the non-feathered wings his new mate was lurching forward.

Sam, the only other person to step through the portal, surged forward to meet his brother. Even though he was shorter Dean threw his arms around his neck, Sam’s arms going under his. Castiel glanced at Gabriel, who looked decidedly smug as he watched his own mate embrace his brother.

“I thought he was on house arrest,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb their reunion.

“Special permission,” Gabriel whispered back. “He’s been good for long enough to garner a little leniency. That and I know how to bribe people.”

Castiel couldn’t bring himself to ask. Not with what he was watching. It felt…good, to see Dean so happy. To see the smile on his face as they pulled away, talking in lowered voices. He tried to ignore it, out of respect, but he picked up on most of it.

“You look good, Sammy.”

“So do you. Gabriel told me what happened. This morning. Guess he knew I’d bug the shit out of him if he’d told me sooner.”

Dean smiled tightly. “I would ‘a done the same, but I’m glad he waited. Last thing I want you doing is fucking up parole for my sake.”

“At least I’ve got a head start.”

“Seriously, you’re…okay?”

The smile that graced Sam’s face was familiar. It was one Castiel had been seeing on Dean’s face. “I’m better than that, now that you’ll be in the same boat. Charlie knows you’re coming.”

“She does?” Dean sounded a little apprehensive at that.

Sam laughed. “Don’t worry, she won’t beat you up too bad. She helped design these.” He held up his left wrist, with the carefully fashioned silver cuff covered in sigils. “Adam’s happy in his Heaven, but she comes by sometimes. She’s really been getting into video games, it helps kill hours like you wouldn’t believe.”

Dean looked like he wanted to say something, but then he glanced at the guards. They were a safe distance away, but they were watching the Demons with weapons at the ready, just waiting for them to make a wrong move. He hesitated, then pressed a hand to the side of Sam’s neck.

“It’s good to see you, Sammy. Damn I missed you.”

“Missed you too. I would have found you, you know I would have, but….”

“I know. It’s your own fault, anyway. Getting nabbed by a flying monkey.”

“Like you did any better.”

“Shut up.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Castiel glanced at Gabriel, but he didn’t seem worried. When he looked back, the brothers were parting. Dean looked back over at him, hands still ‘cuffed’.

“Cas said he knows you?”

“Yeah.” Sam looked over at him, a calculating look in his hazel eyes. “Thanks. For doing what you did. I owe you.”

Dean snickered, earning a look from the two of them. Clearing his throat, he explained, “I don’t think you’d be thinking him if you know _exactly_ what all he did to me.”

“Do I want to know?” Gabriel asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Dean has decided that I’m his mate,” Castiel explained. “I chose not to contend his decision.”

“Real romantic, Cas, thanks,” Dean deadpanned.

The Angel blinked at him owlishly. “Considering you sprung it on me in a tense situation post battle, I thought my reaction was understandable.”

“Battle?” Sam repeated, face creasing worriedly.

“Try a nice warm-up,” Dean snorted. “Remember Duke? Got to blow his face off. Real therapeutic.”

“I’m guessing that’ll be in the next batch of reports?” Gabriel asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Will they mention a certain Knight of Hell?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” The Archangel sighed, turning his attention back to the brothers. “We can set something up for you later, but right now they need to go. There’s a bunch of paperwork and bureaucratic nonsense we need to slog through. I’ve gotta get you home then get Dean’s processing going.”

Sam grimaced at that. “Yeah, I remember. Try not to piss ‘em off, will you? They might get you more than ten years.”

“Who, me?” Dean asked, suddenly all innocence.

Judging by his brother’s expression, Sam was well equated with his antics. “Yeah, you.”

“I agree with Sam. Please try to curb your urge to irk authority figures long enough to get passed the paper pushers.”

Dean turned to glare at him. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours.”

As he folded his arms, huffing, the Angel decided his new mate might need a little motivation.

“If I promise to reward you, will you behave?”

Gabriel snickered. Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably. That lecherous grin crawled up Dean’s face, the one he’d come to appreciate.

“What kind of reward?”

“Dean,” Sam sighed.

“What? I got a right to know what I’m being bribed with.”

“I will surprise you.”

“Done.” Looking back at his brother, he asked, “See you around?”

“Bet on it.”

“Come on, let’s go before they get antsy,” Gabriel urged, herding them back to the gate.

Castiel stood by, watching the shorter Archangel with triple layered wings standing between two tall Knights of Hell. Hopefully Dean would listen to them, or his promise would be tempting enough for him to keep his mouth shut long enough to slog through processing. Ideally he’d skip the questioning process, which Sam hadn’t been spared, but he might have to go through an hour or two of truth serum. It wouldn’t be any worse than that, Gabriel had given his word.

Only when the dust and light had settled did he reluctantly turn away, returning to his patrol. There was still time left before he was off duty. After that he was writing up his reports and heading straight to Heaven. Some did, but he hadn’t made a habit of it. It was simpler to just stay at the base unless he was on leave or stationed in Heaven to begin with. If Dean was unlucky, he’d have to fish him out of the interrogation chambers. If he was lucky, he’d just have to follow through on his promise. Just as soon as he decided what he’d surprise him with.

**~~~BREAK/BREAK\BREAK~~~**

“Are you serious?”

“This is my serious face, is it not?”

Dean barely spared him a deadpan look. Then he went back to staring at the house they stood in front of. Castiel had been more worried than he’d admit, arriving to find it empty. He’d rushed to the sector where Demons were processed and interrogated, only to find him being brought out. The Angel in charge of him looked thoroughly annoyed, but Dean himself looked unharmed. A cuff identical to Sam’s was on his left wrist, the handcuffs gone.

He’d brought Dean to his home, still nervous if for different reasons. He was fond of it, even though he hadn’t wanted it initially, and hadn’t bothered to make adjustments to his liking. If bees were in Heaven he’d have bee boxes. Instead he’d have to settle for flowers, plants. He liked them. They were simple, pretty things with purpose.

At current there were none. He wasn’t around enough to tend them properly, but now that he’d be spending more time here he might do just that. Dean hadn’t even gone inside yet, he was still standing at the gate. Why it was here Castiel honestly wasn’t sure. It was a house, separated from the others, with a yard surrounding it, a fence made of vertical wooden slats and brick pillars running around it. The house itself had a wraparound porch, its architecture in the style humans called Oriental, in its westernized form. With a curved roof shingled in dark gray, the walls a lighter shade, the porch and frames painted white. Considering his personal style and history it was a bit of a mismatch, but he liked it. Simultaneously functional and aesthetically pleasing. If he was going to get stuck with a house, it might as well be one like this.

“What do you think?” he asked at last, starting to worry. What if he _didn’t_ like it? Would he be able to find someone willing to trade?

“It ain’t what I had in mind, but she’s real nice. I like it. Tell me she’s at least furnished.”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

Even as he said it Dean was grabbing his hand, dragging him forward. Castiel cracked a smile, letting himself be pulled up the short steps and through the front door. There was an actual living room and dining room, plus a kitchen. The house itself wasn’t exactly overlarge, but it was more than enough for one or two people. When Dean started poking around his cabinets Castiel made a mental note to stock up on tools. At current he had the bare minimum, literally. He didn’t even have pans like those he’d seen Dean use often.

Once he’d looked over the kitchen, Dean moved on to the basement, then the bathroom, then upstairs. To the spare rooms that stood empty, the master bathroom and master bathroom. The last two, at least, he’d tended. The bed, as promised, was large and comfortable with soft sheets and lots of pillows. It was one of the round ones, too, better suited to those with wings, not like the rectangles humans preferred. The bathroom was all tile and marble, with soaps that had scents he liked. This seemed to please his very clean-natured mate very much, and he looked eager to try out the bed.

Only when he’d looked around the house and peered out a window at the backyard did Dean turn to him and ask, “What did you have in mind for a surprise?”

Castiel smiled. He’d given it thought. Dean was flexible in the bedroom, and the Angel was enjoying seeing what was liked and what wasn’t. Considering he enjoyed flaunting rules day-to-day, he turned to horny putty as soon as any were put on him in a sexual context.

He’d like to test that, but…later. He was tired, and he was due back on duty in another ten hours. Reaching up to take his chin between thumb and forefinger, Castiel mused, “There’s a lot I’d like to surprise you with, but I’m afraid most will have to wait. Will you settle for christening the backyard?”

This seemed to please his new mate very much. They hadn’t been able to make love outside before. The light in Heaven wasn’t the same, the sunlight altered, but it would have to do for the next ten years. It was still a beautiful thing, casting rays over fair flesh laid bare over green grass. Better still, homes like this had spells around the fences to contain sounds to a certain point, meaning they didn’t have to be quiet. Something Dean took full advantage of.

Castiel had no illusions that the next ten years would go smoothly, or that the obligatory transition of behavior would be easy for him, but he looked forward to the challenge.


	10. Epilogue

You couldn’t fly through a Heaven’s gate, you had to land to pass through and take off again from there. A minor annoyance that had become part of his routine these last years. Each day, when he was off duty, he would return home without fail. The only exception had been when he’d been on the battlefront, sent there during Raphael’s tantrum over his taking a non-Angel mate before Gabriel could talk the other Archangels around. It helped that the brothers had become invaluable, both as sources of information and strategic advisors. Particularly since they could now communicate with each other, and were allowed set hours of visitation each month.

Castiel’s stent on the battlefront, fighting for his life and those of his soldiers, had only lasted six months. To this day it was the longest he’d been parted from his mate. Never had he thought such a thing would cause him pain, and never in his angelic life had he felt a pain like it. Not physical, he’d had the healers check. It had been something in his head, they’d said, though the pain emanated from his chest. The letters had helped, but he’d only been at peace when he’d been allowed to rejoin his mate. For his part, Dean had been outraged, refusing to provide the Angels with anything until Castiel was returned. He hadn’t known until some time after his return, but the less patient of his cohorts had tried to force more information out of him. Dean hadn’t mentioned it, likely because they hadn’t succeeded. Only in recent times, when higher ranking Demons had been captured, had he begun relaying things he’d learned at Alistair’s side.

Castiel hated when he did that. He knew it was for a good cause, knew Dean only did it for Demons that had no trace of the goodness he and Sam retained, he even knew it saved lives human and Angel alike. But he hated when his mate was dropped off with an empty look in his eyes, hated how distant it made him, the night terrors it brought back. He had them too, they both did, after so many years of battle you couldn’t not. It was the price of retaining the wisdom and strategic knowledge, you also retained the pain and loss you’d endured along with it. For days after Dean used Alistair’s techniques, he would wake screaming. It was probably more, but Castiel couldn’t always be there during Heaven’s nights.

Dean was five years into his sentence. He was still bound to Castiel’s home, save for when he was brought elsewhere to impart information or aid in interrogations. When he wasn’t doing that, and amusing himself by poking at whomever had had the misfortune of guarding him that day, he seemed content at Castiel’s home.

The Seraph had discovered he liked giving his beloved nice things, pretty things. He’d known from the start Dean wasn’t one for jewels and petty baubles, though. His attempts at fetching him nicer clothes didn’t fair well, apparently Dean actually liked ratty jeans and scuffed boots, though he did like vintage t-shirts.

No, he’d had to get creative in his gifts to please his gruff mate, though Dean would blush and protest whenever he made an attempt. His first success was the turntable. Ever since he’d made a habit of fetching records of Dean’s favorite musicians whenever he found an excuse. The basement had been converted into some sort of cave, with a large TV and what Dean called a kegerator, among other things. It had been furnished over the period of a year with various items that pleased his mate, even if Castiel himself wasn’t entirely sure what all they were. The computer was especially baffling, but it served his mate very well as a distraction. Charlie came by a few times a month, and she’d introduced him to video games. Apparently playing one called ‘Moondoor’ was both an excellent away to spend hours on end, as well as bond with the sister he’d had in his human life.

That wasn’t counting the more…explicit items now residing in their basement. That had taken some time, for the Angel to realize what his beloved desired of him. Dean would very obviously look for something online, and he would fetch it. Just when he thought they’d reached the extent of what could be done to make love making more interesting, he was proved wrong. He couldn’t wait until Dean was allowed freedom for them to do all these different things in different places.

Castiel coasted to a landing just outside their gate now, letting himself inside first it then the front door, walking right into a wall of scent and sound.

_“Carry on my wayward son._

_There’ll be peace when you are done._

_Lay your weary head to rest._

_Don’t you cry no more.”_

Closing the door, Castiel called, “Dean?”

“Kitchen,” his mate called back.

He spared a glance towards the living room, which was home to yet another TV and Dean’s beloved turntable. It sat before a large bookcase the Angel was intent on filling. One of Dean’s favorite records was spinning away, filling the house with music.

Dean was setting a freshly baked pie on rack to cool when he came in, then he went back to stirring something in a pot on the stove.

“Boring shift?”

“Utterly humdrum.” He stepped up behind the Demon, twining his arms around his waist from behind, tilting his head to kiss first one horn, then the other, before resting his lips to the back of his neck. Personally, he thought his mate looked best in what Dean called his ‘birthday suit’, but barring that he did like seeing him in jeans and t-shirts. They fit him, and all the shapes they hid, very well.

Dean turned a little, hooking an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a proper kiss. When they parted, the Demon wrinkled his nose. “How long are you gonna be in China? You smell like smog again.”

“I can bathe.”

“In a minute. Oh, did you get the Kaempferia galangal?”

In answer, Castiel pulled back to retrieve a bag from an inner trench coat pocket, offering it to him. Apparently some herbs were best fresh, and while Castiel wasn’t well acquainted with this kind, it seemed to be one of them. He knew Dean didn’t like being cooped up, for all he tried to make the best of it, so he was happy to fetch whatever he needed.

Dean’s face lit up, and he grabbed the bag of carefully gathered roots. Time was he’d taken the whole plant, root to leaf, but his mate had quickly nipped that in the bud by requesting specific parts. Something about being wasteful.

_“Once I rose above the noise and confusion._

_Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion._

_I was soaring ever higher._

_But I flew too high.”_

He stepped back, watching as Dean went to work, washing and prepping it for whatever dish he was currently working on. It looked spicy. It certainly smelled it. Just sticking his nose above the boiling pot had his eyes watering.

_“Though my eyes could see, I still was a blind man._

_Though my mind could think, I still was a mad man._

_I could hear the voices when I’m dreaming._

_I could hear them say._

_Carry on, my wayward son._

_There’ll be peace when you are done._

_Lay your weary head to rest._

_Don’t you cry no more.”_

“What are you making?”

“I don’t think I should tell you.”

“Why not?”

“The last time I told you, you refused to eat it.”

“Because the name implied the protein involved was genitalia.”

“I told you, the name ‘dragon penis’ just meant it was spicy,” Dean protested.

“Considering how many dishes humans have that actually do involve genitalia, I decided not to take my chances.”

_“Masquerading as a man with a reason._

_My charade is the event of the season._

_And if I claim to be a wise man, well_

_It surely means that I don’t know.”_

Castiel got out the way as Dean went to work. He made himself useful, setting the table and getting out bowls. Then he fetched drinks from the fridge, setting a fresh beer within Dean’s reach.

_“On a stormy sea of moving emotion._

_Tossed about, like a ship on the ocean._

_I set a course for winds of fortune._

_But I hear the voices say._

_Carry on, my wayward son._

_There’ll be peace when you are done._

_Lay your weary head to rest._

_Don’t you cry no more._

_No!”_

Generally that shade of orange meant it was spicy, so Castiel got out the yogurt, bread, and milk. Dean liked spicy things. He’d gotten a taste for it himself, even gotten to where he only ate twice as much yogurt as Dean instead of four times as much.

He turned away from the table, watching as Dean set the lid over the simmering pot.

“This has gotta simmer for a few minutes, then it’ll be good to eat.”

“It smells good. And spicy.”

The Demon grinned, coming over to grab him by the shirt and pull him into a prolonged kiss. “You can do a lot in two minutes.”

When he was let up for air, Castiel asked, “I thought I smelled like smog.”

“I won’t be able to smell you where you’re gonna be.”

Castiel cocked a brow. While it could be very intimate, he’d come to find that oral sex could and would be traded for just about anything. The most extreme example being when Dean couldn’t be bothered to get up to reach the remote. “Now why would I do that? It would only be two minutes.”

“Your point?”

“Why have two minutes when you can have more? It’s a boon of such a boring shift, I have plenty of energy afterward.” Lightly taking his chin between thumb and forefinger, the Angel drew him close, stopping just before their lips met. He smiled at the faint hitch of breath, the barely audible whine this got him. “Remember the…activity we preformed that time after I was moved to Siberia?”

That posting, meant to be a punishment when Michael had gotten his sense of propriety bruised by Dean being right when he’d been wrong, had turned out to be a blessing. He had had far too much time on his hands and a great deal of energy leftover after a shift. But if anyone asked it had been dreadful and he’d learned his lesson.

Dean pondered this for a moment.

_“Carry on, you will always remember._

_Carry on, none can equal the splendor._

_Now your life’s no longer empty._

_Surely heaven waits for you._

_Carry on, my wayward son._

_There’ll be peace when you are done._

_Lay your weary head to rest._

_Don’t you cry._

_Don’t you cry no more._

_No more.”_

Castiel was faintly aware of the finishing guitar solo in the background as Dean countered, “Not really in the mood for that one. What about…that thing we did when you brought me that one Zep album?”

The Angel’s brows shot up. “Really?”

“What?”

“I thought that was for special occasions.”

Dean smirked, then pulled out of his grip, stepping back over to the stove. He gave his pot a stir, then asked, “Has Ishim talked to you?”

“No. Should he have?”

“It was his idea.”

“What was?”

The Demon folded his arms, leaning against the counter. “They’re setting up a deal. A signed one, so they can’t back out of it. They’ll knock a year off my sentence if I- “

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard it yet.”

“I know the last time they offered you something of that nature it involved more than you were willing to do.”

“They want us to train fledglings.”

Castiel blinked, his rising temper faltering. “What?”

Dean smiled wryly. “Ishim’s only doing it to get you off the battlefield, you make him look bad. Plus he’s gotten my detail a lot lately, and he knows he’s a dead fucker if he kills me.”

“He would be a very dead fucker,” Castiel confirmed, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I’ve had offers in the past, but none recently.” After a beat he admitted, “I’d been rethinking my refusals, about the time I discovered you.”

“I think they were banking on that.”

“You said they want _us_ to train fledglings?” Castiel clarified.

“Yep.”

“You and me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Together?”

“Yeah.”

“At the same time.”

“Dunno about at the same time, but maybe. Look, there’s older, but comparatively we’re old timers who’ve got a shit-ton of wisdom to impart. We know strategy, we know tactics, we know a lot of a stuff. You know the Angel side, I know the Demon side. I think they’re talking to Sam too, but we’re the real pain in Ishim’s ass so we get first dibs.”

“I’d like to see the details, but…it could be promising.”

Dean certainly seemed interested, which wasn’t a surprise. Despite his initial concerns, his beloved liked fledglings, even the winged ones. With every other being Castiel had ever seen him with, he was crude or gruff or surly, sometimes all three, plucking at feathers verbally or physically to see what it would take to make them squawk. This was not the case with fledglings. The first time Samandriel had come by with a message for him, Castiel had hurried home only to find the younger Angel sitting at their table being fed pie and lemonade. Samandriel was the first of many who would come by, first to see a real live Demon, then to listen to his stories. The record was no less than nine trainees sitting on their porch, each with their own beverage, enraptured by a particularly bloody battle story.

Neither Angels nor Demons reproduced, not the way humans did. The only children in Heaven were those Angels going through a rapid development phase after leaving their own Heaven, or humans who had died before they’d had a true chance at life. It was part of this life, one they accepted. Castiel thought it stemmed from his human days, old instincts developed as the eldest sibling, perhaps an inherent fondness for children. Whatever the reason, Dean was good with them, and they liked him in turn. He would make a fine trainer.

“Do you think I would be any good at it?” Castiel asked, only distantly aware the song had changed in the living room.

Dean turned off the heat on the stove, removing the pot’s lid and giving it another stir. “Yeah, why? Think you wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted at length. “I was giving it thought because it would be a less dangerous posting, closer to home, and I could ideally keep more Angels alive in the long term. But I’m not sure how good a trainer I would make.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You’ve got the patients of a fucking saint, for one.”

“Generally those who were granted the title of saint didn’t usually participate in fornication.”

Dean sighed. “Not what I meant. But I figure you’ve got plenty of practice. At least one of those Angels they put on my guard duty was a literal saint back in their human days, and they were ready to disembowel me by the time they dropped me back off here.”

“You do have a gift,” Castiel admitted.

“Tell you what? Just try it for a little while. If we like it, we keep the gig. If not, we do it long enough they can’t bitch if you bow out.”

“Very well.” He watched as Dean set the pot on their table, then reached out to catch his hand. Meeting surprised eyes, he brought the Demon’s fingers up to his lips. A gesture that was a bit old fashioned, but he enjoyed partaking in the classical human form of chivalry for all they were both male. Particularly since it made Dean blush and splutter.

As usual, Dean’s face flushed, color filling out his cheeks and blotting out his freckles. When Castiel slowly drew away, looking up at his mate’s adorably flustered face through his lashes, the Demon yanked his hand away. “Don’t do that,” he snapped, turning away huffily. As he always did.

Knowing it was a failed endeavor to convince him otherwise, Castiel took a seat at the table. Considering their relationship had started with Dean poking at him and trying to seduce him, he thoroughly enjoyed being able to return the favor. Sometimes in a more overt fashion, but more often than not all it took was little things like this to get Dean flustered while he himself had become nearly immune to such things. It had done wonders for his control, being his mate’s constant target.

Now, if he could survive whatever his mate had concocted this time without needing to regenerate his taste buds, he was overdue to enjoy what humans called ‘marital duties’.

**THE END**


End file.
